


What Would Happiness Be

by traumschwinge



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Dealing With Trauma, Friendship, Healing, Introspection, M/M, Pining, Slow Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-17
Updated: 2019-12-01
Packaged: 2020-05-13 19:00:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 43,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19257259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/traumschwinge/pseuds/traumschwinge
Summary: Fenris knows it is a bad idea. He has a list of reasons why he should keep his distance. However, he cannot deny what he wants, deep down and more than anything.He will not take it, not at first. Friendship, kinship, is all he wants. Or so he tells himself.





	1. Chapter 1

A noise startled Fenris awake. Instinctively, he reached for his sword, listening intently for more noises. There were none. None that were out of the usual. The fire of their little camp was still burning, logs occasionally cracking. The wildlife of the night was out and about, evident by the screams, trills and howls. Leaves rustled in the wind.

None of those noises would have woken Fenris. He had learned to sleep through them. It had been a much more… human… noise.

He stared at the mage he had been forced to share a tent with. Of course the mage was asleep, although it did seem rather fitful. His brows were drawn together, his lips a thin line. He was whimpering softly.

Fenris pulled a face. So this was what had woken him. Not even asleep, the mage ceased to be annoyance.

He should just wake the mage and be done with it. Especially since he himself had gone excessively on and on about how Fenris was welcome to wake him if he had nightmares.

And yet, he did not.

The problem was, Fenris, despite his better knowledge, was perceptive. He did care even when he was desperate not to. Caring was adding a weakness to himself. Friends were a liability. And yet, he did care, cared about Hawke and all his companions. Even the mage and the witch.

Fenris pulled another face. 

He’d noticed the dark shadows under the mage’s eyes. He had noticed the sneaky yawns the mage tried to hide. The mage was not getting enough sleep. From his own experience, Fenris knew that fitful sleep full of nightmares was still preferable to no sleep at all. The most preferable, however, would be a peaceful night’s sleep. They all needed that, they all needed to be at their best when out and about with Hawke.

Fenris rolled onto his side and propped his head up with one hand. Anders really didn’t look like he was having a proper rest. The mage had started to whimper lowly again. He was also twitching, now that Fenris was actually paying attention. It was starting to make Fenris himself nervous. Even in his sleep, the blighted mage managed to radiate an energy of restlessness. Fenris sighed.

“Mage,” he whispered. That got no reaction. If anything, the mage’s whimpering got louder, making Fenris worry that he’d soon start talking, or even worse, screaming.

“Anders,” Fenris tried again. “Anders. It’s all.. it’s alright.” Inside, Fenris cursed himself for being so bad with words. Every other of their group of friends would be better suited for this. “You’re safe here.”

That at least proved to have some calming effect. Anders was clenching his hands in the blankets, but his knuckles were no longer white. Without thinking, Fenris reached out to wipe some of the sweat off Anders' forehead. He brushed away some of the messy blond hair in the same motion, his hand then traveling to Anders' ear, tugging the strand away. 

His fingers lingered a moment longer. Long enough for Anders to react, instinctively, still fast asleep, turning his head ever so slightly that his cheek pressed against Fenris' palm. Fenris marveled at the coarse feel of stubble against his skin, the sudden peaceful expression washing over Anders' face.

Something inside Fenris' chest cracked at the sight.

If he'd been any other, if they'd been any other, he'd have leaned in and kissed Anders, stealing a touch of those pink lips that no one had ever to know about. He wanted to, longed to. Instead, he withdrew his hand, earning himself a disappointed sigh. He swallowed heavily. As they were, he knew he couldn't do this. He couldn't do more and even doing this much was too much. It was bad enough as it was.

The next night, he'd ask somebody else to share the tent with the mage. Or better yet, complain to Hawke that he couldn't go on errands with the mage anymore. Not having to see his face for a while would certainly improve things.

Friends, Fernis reminded himself as he rolled on his back and stared at the tent above, were a weakness. It didn't matter if they were smart, or capable, or even powerful. Danarius was all that and more so than any friend he could ever make. He didn't want to put anyone in danger. Someone who was even more…

Fenris steeled himself.

It didn't help. Suddenly, he could not breathe, memories of Seheron and his newfound companions filling his head. He sat up, pressed his hand to his chest. He couldn't breathe. His chest hurt. He couldn't breathe. His vision swam. He couldn't breathe. He tried, gasped, but the air in his mouth, his nose would not go past his throat, not fill his lungs. He was beginning to feel faint.

There was a hand on his and on his back, someone talking to him, calling his name from far away. He swallowed against the lump in his throat, getting some precious air into his lungs. He leaned against the hand on his back, allowing it to ground him. This eyes slipped closed.

"Hey, don't faint on me now."

Fenris somehow managed to orient himself toward the voice, slumping forward against something solid. His swimming mind registered the spicy smell more than the words. It felt safe. He clung to the smell.

Hands on his shoulders tried to push him away so he clung harder to the fleeting comfort.

"Hey, hey, stop that. I'm not… however you think this is. I'd really like to keep all my organs where they are once you stop having a panic attack and I don't, I really don't think you'll be anything less than pissed about this in a moment." The pushing got harsher. "Fenris, Maker, stop this."

Fenris let go. The fog in his head was clearing. Reality came back into focus. He registered the trembling in Anders' voice. The mage was afraid of him. That alone made him recoil, scooting away from the mage as best as he could without knocking the tent down. He'd known the mage thought him capable of many things, but this… His hands were shaking so he dug his fingers in the blanket. It helped a little.

"If you're done now, I'd like to go back to sleep. At least the darkspawn there don't confuse me with anyone else." A year ago, Fenris would have bristled, thinking this meant Anders was preferring darkspawn over his company. Now, he knew this was just Anders' way of hiding his weaknesses. It made Fenris hug his knees to his chest. He'd caused this. His behaviour had caused this. And Anders had every right to be scared of him.

"Fenris?" The rustle of fabric told Fenris that the mage was moving again. Restless as ever. The thought almost managed to tug at the edges of Fenris mouth. "Fenris, if you're having another panic attack…" Anders sighed. "Will you listen to your healer?"

Fenris nodded. He refused to look at Anders.

"Breathe in. Count to eight while you do it. Hold your breath for two. Then breathe out for eight." Anders' words were slow and measured, confident. This was the healer talking, this was Anders, pushing himself aside to be his profession. Fenris both appreciated it and hated the thought.

"I know it's hard the first couple of tries," Anders added, his voice barely a murmur. "Just… keep at it until you can and then continue until you're calm."

Fenris uncurled a little. Anders was trying to help. “You’re not making much sense, healer,” Fenris said. Normal. They could both do with normal. And in normal circumstances, Fenris knew he’d remind the mage he was babbling. It wasn’t enough right now, though. “But I will try it. Thank you.”

There was no reaction from Anders for the first couple of moments. Then, eventually, Fenris heard him shift.

It took Fenris himself a lot longer to relax enough to lie back down. He felt shaken by the panic attack and even more so by what had happened before and then instinctively during. The regret and loathing from it made his chest tighten up again already.

He focused his breathing as Anders had said, feeling silly about it at first. It helped, slowly, with each repetition, it helped. Tears stung in Fenris’s eyes.

“Anders.”

No response.

“Anders,” Fenris tried again.

Still no response.

Fenris tensed again, for a moment. He forced himself to relax. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he said, loud, slow, careful. “You… tell me to go away and I will.” He turned to face Anders, who was lying with his back to him. He reached out, putting an arm across Anders. He could feel the mage stiffen for a moment. “If you allow me this comfort for tonight…”

“You never call me healer. You never call me Anders,” Anders whispered back. “I don’t understand…”

“Just for tonight,” Fenris repeated. He’d scooted closer, close enough to bury his face against Anders’ shoulder. The smell of herbs and spices comforted him.

“I’m… I’m a mage. I’m everything you hate. I don’t think this is a good idea.” Despite his words, Anders was relaxing in the embrace.

“I don’t hate you.” Fenris fingers twitched in an effort to stop himself from hugging Anders tighter. “Allow me to ward off the nightmares. Please. For myself. And for you as well.”

“I…” Anders sighed. “You’re impossible.” He patted Fenris arm. Yawned. “Fine. For tonight.”

~*~

Fenris awoke when the noise outside shifted from the relative quiet of the night to the screams of early birds. He felt content as he woke, warm and rested, at peace with the world as it was. The warm body in his arms helped the feeling, too.

For a while, Fenris lay there unmoving, without even opening his eyes, listening to the sounds of nature outside the tent and to Anders steady breathing in his arms. Sometime during the night, he’d grasped Anders’ hand and entwined their fingers. The swell of his heart at this realization pushed the air from his lungs. He lightly touched his forehead to Anders’ back until the feeling subsided.

Having a mage so close made the lines in his skin itch and tingle. It wasn’t unpleasant, wasn’t even taking much of his attention. It just was, mixing with the comfort and pleasantness of waking up well-rested, to a general fog that threatened to pull him back to sleep again.

He was just about to doze off, the world outside their little tent be damned, when Anders started to move. Fenris bit his lip so he wouldn't groan in disappointment. He held still, pretending to be asleep. It allowed Anders to slip from the embrace and pretend the last night had never happened. To Fenris' great surprise, Anders didn't. He fidgeted, he shuffled around, but he never tried to shake off Fenris' arm or slip away. In the end, Anders was even closer than before, letting out a content sigh.

Fenris was frozen stiff at the realization. His heart was hammering, he barely managed to keep his breath even. Blood was rushing through his ears. It was a stolen moment, Fenris was very aware of that, but he couldn’t help enjoying that at least in his sleep, Anders was searching for a closeness to him.

Clang!

The crash of metal on stone made Fenris almost leap to his feet, ready to fight for his life. Almost, because what he actually did do was pull Anders flush against him and activating his markings. He only relaxed when he heard very off-key whistling. From experience, that meant Hawke was making breakfast. Usually, Fenris would have delighted at the thought of cooked breakfast. Today, only today, he wished the earth would open up and swallow Hawke, or him, or all of them.

“Fenris…” Anders’ voice was tense, pressed, not at all like Fenris had imagined his voice just after waking only moments earlier. “Could you, please… I can’t breathe, not properly, not with you almost crushing my chest like this, see? And I’d really like to keep breathing, actually.”

Fenris let go as if he’d been burnt. His markings flickered and went out. All of a sudden self-conscious of what he’d been doing, what he’d been thinking, he put space between them, turning away so he could hide his embarrassment.

There was a rap on the tent. “Blondie? Broody? You’re alright in there? We saw some angry blue glowing. You’re not killing each other before breakfast, are you?” Varric. Fenris groaned inwardly. He did his best to hide under his pillow. He did not want to be seen by anyone, let alone their nosy friends when they’d decided they needed to check in for their own good.

“We’re alright,” Anders yelled back. “Fenris just thought we were attacked by some tone-deaf monster from the fade and startled.”

“Hey!” Hawke. Fenris tried to bury deeper in his bedroll. It didn’t help.

“Not my fault you can’t whistle any tune, Hawke.” Anders was bustling around the tent, fussing with the bedroll and doing his best not to look at Fenris. Fenris who was watching him with one eye from under the pillow. Fenris who was openly staring as Anders undid his hair tie and shook his locks out, combing through them with his fingers before tying them back up in his usual messy ponytail.

It made Fenris wonder what it would be like to be the one running his fingers through Anders hair and what it would take for Anders to forgo the tie. He felt the tips of his ears heat up and went back to hiding.

Anders rustled around some more. Just when Fenris thought the mage would leave, he heard him whisper: “I… uh… the, ah, cuddling last night was nice. I, er, I actually liked it. Uhm, well, at least until you, well, almost crushed my chest. It was nice.” Anders cleared his throat. “I won’t say a thing about it. Not to Hawke and not to Varric. So, you… you don’t have to worry about that.”

It took Fenris a moment to process what he’d just heard. And he took another moment to unburrow himself. By the time he was blinking at the tent’s stuffy air, Anders was gone.

Fenris pressed a hand to his chest. Anders had said he’d liked the cuddling. He had liked the cuddling with  _ him _ . Not that he should put too much stock on that. But he couldn’t help thinking about what Anders had said. It made his heart flutter each time. 

It was stupid. It was reckless. He  _ knew better _ .

He ruffled his hair to get the thoughts out of his head. Stupid. The best course of action was to get on at the moment. And to get on, he should get out and face the mockery of his friends. Fenris considered that for a moment. Best to put on his armor first.

The day wasn’t so bad in the end. Sure, Varric and Hawke were teasing him mercilessly, starting at breakfast. Fenris endured it, mellowed by the fact that what Hawke lacked in the ability to whistle any tune they made up for it in their cooking. Anders was quiet for most of the meal and while they were packing up their camp. It allowed Fenris to sneak the occasional glance when he was sure nobody was looking. 

Around noon, Hawke pointed at a rustling bush near Fenris and said: “Don’t worry, we’ll protect you from all the big, mean monsters.”

Fenris shot them a glare. The distraction was just long enough, however, for the undead in the bush to come leaping out at him. Fenris fumbled for his sword, leaping back to dodge a rusty blade. He pulled his sword free just in time to block another undead’s attack. The moment it took him to deal with the second undead allowed the first to shamble up to him, raising the rusty blade.

Fire rained down on the moving corpse, setting it aflame. Fenris closed his eyes for half a second to keep from turning to Anders. Instead, he activated his markings, storming forward to deal with any undead stupid enough to attack their little group.

Between the four of them, the corpses stood not much of a chance. Fenris was almost relieved. Whenever something unexpected happened while he was out with Hawke, it usually meant everyone involved was going to have a bad day. The last of the moving corpse fell in a hail of arrows. Fenris sheathed his sword.

“Everyone alright?”

Fenris turned to watch Anders fussing over Hawke. Involuntarily, he narrowed his eyes. He’d a couple of scratches himself and Hawke would definitely not die from the few scrapes they’d suffered. They could just as well take care of it themself. But no, Hawke had to act all mortally wounded to get Anders to themself for a moment.

“C’mon now, Broody.” Varric had just sidled up to him and Fenris was already half a mind to make the dwarf shut up. “Blondie’s just taking care of our wounds. Most of the days, it’d be a lot worse without him. We can’t all take care of our own wounds and tough it out like you do.”

Fenris squinted at the dwarf. “I can see that the mage has his uses.”

“Careful there, broody,” Varric smirked. “One could almost think you just said something nice about a mage.”

Fenris shrugged. “I am stating what is plain to see. Do you want me to point out how the sky is blue or how Hawke is playing up their injuries for attention as well?”

That observation made Varric laugh hard enough to draw a short glance from their companions. “They’re only doing it because Hawke knows they can get away with it. Maker knows Hawke can take pain if they have to. But why refuse what’s given freely?”

“Too freely,” Fenris said before he’d even thought about it. He bit his tongue.

Varric took it entirely the wrong way, both to Fenris’ elation and regret. “There’s nothing wrong with wanting to help people any way you can, you know. He’s not going to turn around and demand a blood sacrifice for his services. You do realize that don’t you?”

Fenris shrugged helplessly. He knew, of course he knew. But that only added to his worry  _ for _ the mage. He’d seen how tired Anders was all the time. He’d felt how thin the mage was despite his muscles. “Why help when you ask for nothing in return? What would one get out of it?”

“Nothing,” Varric said and it was almost like a growl. “Not everything has to be a trade. He’s helping because he can and because it can sometimes grant someone another morning. There does not have to be a payment.”

Fenris clenched his hand to a fist. “But there should be,” he ground out. “The mage runs himself ragged for half the city and gets nothing in return. That is not right.”

“Broody…” Varric started and then deflated. “Wait, what did you just say?”

Fenris shook his head. “You heard me. I don’t have to repeat what I said.”

A grin spread across the dwarf’s face. Fenris groaned. “Don’t. Just don’t,” he said. “We’re friends. I do not wish suffering upon him, fool he may be.” That did nothing to deter the grin upon Varric’s face. “Don’t tell him. Please.”

“Ooooh but why? This is good.” Varric was already rubbing his hands. “You. Calling a mage a friend.”

“Dwarf…” Fenris raised a hand, clenching it to a fist. He activated his markings for a second.

“Alright alright alright.” Varric raised his hands in defeat. “I’ll keep it to myself.” He shook his head. “Andraste’s tits, I can’t believe it…”

“Can’t believe what?” Hawke interjected. They had an arm around Anders shoulder but dropped it quickly.

“Can’t believe that Tevinter has flying buildings,” Varric lied smoothly. “You’re pulling my leg, aren’t you, Broody?”

“There are Magisters specialized in keeping buildings afloat,” Fenris deadpanned.

Hawke shook their head. “That  _ has  _ to be a lie,” they laughed. “No way this is true…” Still muttering about the outrageousness of the idea to Varric, they started to continue on their path.

“Are you really alright?” Anders asked, suddenly, his voice low enough to not be overheard. “You glowed, just for a moment. I didn’t feel any magic and you… are you alright, Fenris?”

“I…” Fenris swallowed. He couldn’t tell why he’d activated his markings without further needling. The easiest course was to just give in and lie more. “I think I twisted my ankle. It hurt when I put weight on it. I will handle it just fine, mage.”

Anders huffed. “Suit yourself, Ser I-can-take-the-pain.”

“I will,” Fenris said. Usually, their conversation would have ended there but this time, there was a thought at the back of Fenris’ mind he couldn’t shake. “What do Varric and Hawke give you for healing them so often?” he mused out loud. 

“Give?” Anders repeated. He sounded and looked flabbergasted. “I’m getting a fair share of the spoils of our outings, just… just like you. Or anyone else insane enough to follow Hawke around the blighted Marches.” He was gesticulating. Fenris heard Varric suppress a snicker.

“And when Hawke brings someone to your clinic at the dead of night?” Fenris went on. “Do they pay you for your service, for the missed sleep?”

Anders opened and closed his mouth like a fish on dry land. His expression was shifting between indignation and disbelief. Fenris was about to call this conversation over when Anders finally found his voice. “They’re my  _ friend _ , Fenris.” He shook his head. “I’m not asking them to pay anything. Nor do I ask Varric, for that matter, or Isabella or Merrill.”

“You left out Aveline,” Fenris noted.

“Weeeeell.” Anders crossed his arms in front of her chest and made a show of looking around before leaning in to tell Fenris: “Aveline, Serah Widow-of-a-Templar-and-thus-holier-than-thou, can pay me or find herself another healer. Unless there’s a life at stake, of course.”

“What…” Fenris took a deep breath. “If I asked you…” He clenched his shaking fingers. “...to heal me too, would you ask me to pay you for it?”

Anders stopped dead in his tracks, forcing Fenris to either stop or leave him standing. Fenris decided to wait. Eventually, Anders raised a hand to his forehead, agonizingly slow. He sighed. “I… I’m not sure. Probably not.”

“Probably not?” Fenris raised a brow.

“Well, no, because I think we might be something like friends.” Anders threw up his hands. “Maybe. Possibly. I do think so, at least. You’re getting on my nerves whenever you can, you’re impossible to talk to sometimes, you’re infuriating.” Fenris glared at him. “But I still think we’re friends,” Anders finished. “So… if you asked me, allowed me to heal you…” He lowered his arms, reaching out with a hand to Fenris, magic licking over his fingers. “I wouldn’t ask for anything. Not seeing my friend in pain is enough.”

Fenris lowered his head to hide the blush he could feel creeping up his cheeks. Anders had called him his friend. It was better than anything Fenris had hoped for. He’d thought Anders merely didn’t despise him. But no, Anders saw him as a friend. They were friends.

“Fenris?” Anders said. “If you don’t like me considering you a friend, I don’t…”

“We are friends,” Fenris interrupted him. “I consider you a friend, a willfully blind, obnoxious friend, as well.”

“Well…” Anders cleared his throat. “That’s… nice… I guess?”

Fenris lifted both his eyebrows. “Shall we try and catch up with Hawke before Varric spins an outrageous story about our absence?”

Anders nodded. He didn’t move, however, before touching Fenris’ arm unbidden, letting healing magic wash over Fenris. 

The pleasant shudder running down Fenris’ spine from the gesture wasn’t entirely caused by magic. 


	2. Chapter 2

 

Later that evening, they were sitting alone at their campfire. Hawke and Varric had strolled off to do… something or other, Fenris wasn’t exactly clear about it. Rogue-things. It was better if he didn’t know.

Anders had been quiet in their time alone. He was thinking, it was plain to see on his face.

“So, how come you’ve grown to tolerate me, but you still hate Justice. He’s a part of me, you know? Will be, too. It’s not going to change. Ever.”

Anders wasn’t looking at him while he said that, instead we was aimlessly poking the campfire with a stick. Fenris recognised the signs, now that he knew what he was looking for. The topic was uncomfortable for Anders. He was probably fearing rejection, too, and if Fenris was honest with himself, he got why. Their relationship was still more truce than a true friendship, which they’d been inching toward for years now but not reached yet. At least, they weren’t fighting all the time anymore. Deep down, it even pleased Fenris that Anders finally relaxed around him, instead of twitching every time he moved unexpectedly.

Lost in his thoughts, Fenris had barely noticed how much time had passed in which he hadn’t answered. When he realized, he simply shook his head. “I do not like him. Leave it at that, mage.”

“But you don’t even know him!” Anders stabbed a blackened branch with his stick. The branch broke with a grinding noise. “He was my friend. Before we… He was my friend and I couldn’t just watch him decay anymore. I didn’t want him to die. I didn’t want to watch him die. But now… we used to have friends. He used to have friends. Now, he’s ignored, at best. At worst, you keep calling him a demon without even knowing him. Without… without ever talking to him. I can’t… I can’t… I think we might be friends, Fenris, but if we ever really should be friends, you at least have to accept him. He’s been my friend long before any of you and, and I, I… He’s the first and if I have to choose, I will choose him over anyone, even Hawke… and…” He looked up, blinking rapidly. His glance fell on Fenris hands in his lap. He looked away again. “Are you alright?”

Fenris uncurled his fists and flexed his fingers a couple of times. He hadn’t even realized he’d clenched them. “I could ask you the same.” He did his best to sound lofty. Distanced. Normal. “You were almost hyperventilating for a moment, mage.”

Anders took a deep breath. “Was not,” he mumbled and added another log to the fire. “Anyway, I don’t regret helping my friend when he was in need.” He finally managed to turn and look at Fenris, unapologetic defiance twinkling in his eyes.

“So you say,” Fenris murmured.

“I mean it, Fenris.” Anders dropped the stick in the flames.

Fenris pressed his lips together. Snapping what he thought at Anders wasn’t helpful. Even if the mage seemed to be hellbent on a fight.

“What?”

Fenris took a breath. Peaceful thoughts, he reminded himself. And, because it didn’t help much, he added, if Hawke comes back from whatever they and Varric went to do and we’re fighting, they’d be pissed.

“You can say it, Fenris. It won’t be anything I haven’t heard before. Probably even before Justice.”

“Your main talent is needling those you shouldn’t, isn’t it?” Fenris sighed. “Let it go. I do not wish to discuss this with you yet.”

“Well, but I do.” Anders pulled a face. He was silent for a moment, his eyes going unfocused. “No, I do want to hear it, now,” he snapped. “Or are you afraid of what Justice might think? He’s taken all your insults far more gracefully and with a lot more patience than I ever did, believe me.”

“Why do you always expect the worst?”

“And you don’t? You of all people should know, it’s just how things are. Always.”

“Really?” Fenris let out a deep breath. The part of him that thought Anders had just admitted that all his worst assumptions about the mage were true needed to be shut down with conscious effort. The ma- Anders was his friend, Fenris reminded himself. Unable to articulate his thoughts, he took off his gauntlets. It bought him time and showed that he meant to be less threatening. Hopefully. “You’re a fool.” The corner of his mouth twitched as he said it.

That seemed to at least take some of the fight out of Anders. “What?”

“You’re a fool,” Fenris repeated, now smirking. “And I might be a fool as well, for suffering you as often as I do.”

“I’m serious, Fenris!” Anders might have raised his voice, but Fenris could tell he was mostly flustered. “Don’t mock me.”

“I’m not mocking you, I merely stated my assessment of this situation.” Fenris leaned back and looked up. This was as hard as he’d known it would be. Now, maybe even harder. They didn’t have unlimited time for his dallying. He had to stop acting like a coward and speak his mind, before their nosey friends came back. “You said, you had not wanted to watch your friend fall apart and die. I do not like Justice, because I do not want to watch mine fall apart and die, either.”

“Wha-” Anders was quiet for a long time, but Fenris didn’t dare to look at him. Didn’t want to see the rejection in Anders’ eyes before he could voice it. “...you think that Justice is slowly… killing? Me?”

“Yes, mage,” Fenris sighed. “You’re running yourself ragged for everyone else. It’s painfully obvious for any of your friends. One of these days, you will die of exhaustion or hunger or a mix of the two. Or maybe you’ll freeze in bed because you gave your last blanket away since somebody needed it and you didn’t think of how to keep yourself warm.” He swallowed. “And I don’t want that.”

“Fenris…” When Fenris finally looked down again, Anders was staring at him with his mouth hanging open. Then, from a moment to the next, he frowned. “Oh shush,” he muttered to himself. “And you think Justice is the reason for that?” Anders asked, softly. It wasn’t easy over the glow of the fire, but Fenris thought he could see him blush slightly.

“Yes. Who else would drive you so without any regard for your needs?”

“Uhm…” Anders shifted uncomfortably. “Ah, erm, funny, actually, because, you see, it’s…” He took a deep breath. “That’s all me, I’m afraid.”

Fenris frowned. “What? But, you’re the Healer!”

“A healer,” Anders corrected with a grimace. “The truth. Alright, I can do that… I think. It’s… the thing is… Well, Justice likes me a lot more than I like myself. He also cares more about me than I do. A lot more. So… that’s not his fault. That’s all me.”

It was Fenris turn to stare open-mouthed now.

Anders cleared his throat awkwardly. “So… does that mean you now don’t like me anymore?”

Capitulating, Fenris buried his face in his hands. His shoulders were shaking.

“...Fenris?”  
“Fool of a mage,” Fenris muttered. Louder, he ground out, “Your Spi- Justice, can he hear me?”

“Uhm, yes. He, ah, he was listening to our conversation, actually.” A pause. “He worried because he could feel how anxious I was.”

“And I presume he commented on it unbidden?” Fenris voice was muffled by the heels of his hands he was pressing against his mouth.

Another pause. Then, “Ah… yes… yes, he did.”

“We’re both utter fools,” Fenris sighed as he lowered his hands. He looked up, tremoring ever so slightly with mirth. “Justice, if I bring food, will you make sure Anders eats it?”

“Hey, you can’t just…” Anders interrupted his protests in the vain attempt to hold Justice back. He failed, blue light cracking his skin, lighting his eyes. Fenris’ tattoos started to prickle but he ignored it. Justice likely meant him no harm. On the contrary, he suddenly seemed a likely ally in keeping his mage alive and well. “I promise you I will take care that Anders eats the food you provide,” Justice said. His deep voice sent shivers down Fenris’ back but it wasn’t that unpleasant. Justice tilted his head. “Anders says it would make him uncomfortable. I say if the food is given freely by a caring friend, he should cherish it.”

All too pleased with himself, Fenris smirked. “I shall hold you to it.”

Justice inclined his head. “I await your gift.” The cracks in Anders’ skin closed again and the light of the fade faded from his eyes. He groaned.

“Did… does it hurt when he takes over like that?” Fenris asked following the sudden idea that it might, that he’d asked for something that’d bring harm to the mage. Better to focus on that than the itching of his brands, anyway.

Anders shook his head. “No… no, it doesn’t. It’s not entirely pleasant, but… It doesn’t hurt.” He groaned once more. “I can’t believe you’d take Justice’s side like that. It’s entirely unfair.”

“As you said, he cares about you,” Fenris carefully schooled his expression. “And so do I.”

“Great,” Anders groaned but there was little sarcasm in the word. “...does that mean I can expect occasional food deliveries from you if I don’t feed myself?”

“Regular deliveries,” Fenris amended. “And if you do not wish to suffer me eating with you, I shall leave it to your spirit to make sure you eat.”

“You just love seeing me suffer,” Anders moaned.

“Of course I do.” Fenris relaxed. “Yet, I hadn’t known Justice did as well.”

They sat in silence for a while. Fenris enjoyed it, but he knew Anders was getting uneasy with the lack of chatter. He was poking at the fire with a new stick, fiddling with a loose strand of hair, constantly moving. At the beginning, all those mannerisms had made Fenris hate Anders even more than he already had when he’d learnt he was a possessed mage. It was catching and made Fenris himself nervous, something which Fenris decidedly did not like.

He was calmer about it now, the uneasiness he was feeling more worry than weariness.

Fenris swallowed. He understood that Anders was trying, for him, to not prattle constantly. He’d asked it often enough of the mage. But this, this silence, that wasn’t good either.

“I… did not thank you for healing me, earlier,” Fenris broke the silence. It was better than to tell the mage to stop fidgeting. Harder, too. He cleared his throat. “I thank you, Anders. You did not have to, and for that, I am grateful.”

Anders dropped the stick. He’d turned to look at Fenris, his open mouthed stare illuminated by the everchanging flames of the campfire. The fire turned Anders’ hair into gold and copper, softened the lines of his face. He was still beautiful, no matter that Isabella claimed he’d been prettier back in Denerim.

Fenris closed his eyes. He opened them again, looking down, a moment later. His gaze traveled upward, over Anders’ much too thin frame, his bare neck, the stubble on his chin, his cracked lips, the tip of his nose, until their eyes locked. Fenris’ heart skipped a beat. He wasn’t thinking as he reached out, tugging a strand of coppery golden hair back behind Anders’ ear. He held his breath as he smoothed his hand against Anders’ cheek, waiting for the rejection that did not come. Instead, Anders swallowed, pink tongue darting out to moisten his lips.

Fenris wanted, desperately, to pull him close, into his arms, kiss him and hold him.

It was a monstrous feat to drop his hand, to break eye contact. “I should have asked before touching you,” Fenris said by way of explanation.

“I didn’t ask, either, when I healed you earlier,” Anders responded, his voice getting firmer with each word. They were both off solid ground and swimming, it seemed. “But I don’t mind. The touching. I don’t mind being touched. People touch me all the time and I don’t… I never minded.”

Fenris frowned. “I do,” he stated flatly. “However, I did not mind the touch when you healed me.”

Anders was now looking at him, sizing him up. Searching for something in Fenris’ eyes that had Fenris turn his head away and the tips of his ears heat.

“Fenris,” Anders eventually sighed. “If you want something from me, just say it.” His voice was plain, even, speaking as healer and not friend. With a single sentence, he was pushing the entire situation away from himself.

Fenris clenched his fists in his lap. This was not what he wanted. This was not even close to what he wanted. Anders invitation to say something had taken everything he wanted to say away. He could not respond to it like this.

“You wouldn’t be the first man, you know?” Anders had leaned back, propping himself up with his arms and looking at the stars above. “You probably won’t be the last, either. If… whatever issue it is you’re trying to work out by this…” He waved a hand vaguely in Fenris’ direction. “I’m game. I can take it. Maker, given your choices it’s probably me or the Rose. And even I wouldn’t want to push that on a stranger.”

Fenris glared at him. He could feel anger, old, reliable, familiar anger bubble up inside his chest. He wanted to scream, to lash out. Anger was easy. If he’d just hurt the mage enough, he’d never have to deal with anything like this again.  
And prove himself to be exactly the monster he wanted to overcome.  
He bit his tongue. Repeated Anders’ words to himself in his head. “I do not want to be alone,” he admitted. “It pains me to go to sleep and wake up alone each day.” Not exactly a lie.

“If that’s all,” Anders said lightly, waving his hand again. “We can do something about that.”

“Rules:” Fenris raised his index finger. “We are having breakfast and dinner. If either of us cannot make dinner, we have to tell the other.”

Anders laughed briefly, but shut up when he saw the serious look on Fenris face. He nodded. “Fine fine, you threatened me with food already. I should have expected it.”

Fenris raised a second finger. “If either of us says stop, we stop. If either of us wants to end it, we do.” When Anders didn’t protest, he went on with his next point and a third raised finger. “No sex.”

“What?!” Anders jerked up. “Why not?”

“Because I do not want to,” Fenris lied. He had not thought about the possibility before. Considering when Anders had actually shut up in conversations, what he never said, Fenris didn’t want to sleep with him as part of an arrangement. It would be a challenge. He’d never been one to shy away from a challenge. “This is not about physical gratification.”

Anders laughed. “Sure, whatever you say.” He shrugged. “No sex, just sleeping together in the same bed, having our meals together. Playing house. Fine.”

“If that is what you need to call it to make yourself feel better.” Fenris shrugged. “You will also be free to use the bath in the mansion.”

Anders raised an eyebrow. “Are you criticising my hygiene? I’m a healer, I’ll have you know I keep clean well.”

“The mansion has dwarven plumbing,” Fenris deadpanned. “I was under the impression you would like that. You were fawning over Hawke’s tub once.”

“I did not fawn,” Anders protested. “I didn’t even take Hawke up on the offer to use it. Not once.”

“Will you take me up?”

Anders looked at him with a strange expression. “Possibly.”

“I am not Hawke.”

“Neither am I,” Anders sighed. “I think that’s a good thing, most of the time. I wouldn’t want to be Hawke. And… I won’t pry, but… this isn’t about them, is it? You don’t have to answer. I… I had to ask.”

“It is not about them,” Fenris replied. He put a hand on Anders’. “This is about me. And about you.”


	3. Chapter 3

Fenris was pacing the length of the entrance hall of the dilapidated mansion. He still had trouble considering it his home, no matter how often Varric or Hawke offered him help in buying it. There was always a chance those two had pulled the strings and were holding the deed already anyway. It would be like them. Fenris just hadn’t gotten over himself to ask yet. 

He was distracting himself, allowing his thoughts to wander. Should he have cleared a few more spiders? Everything not to think about later that evening. Were there mice in the mansion or were it rats? Everything not to think about earlier that day. Did it matter which kind of rodent had made nests in the walls and unused rooms? He hadn’t been able to eat anything all day from the knots his stomach kept tying itself into.

It had taken him days, days! To work up the nerve to ask the mage to come over as part of their agreement. And now, Anders was late. The blighted mage was late. And literally blighted, too. Had Fenris recently reminded himself of how bad a choice getting close to Anders really was? And yet he still did. Despite the healer being a warden. Despite the man being a mage. Despite the mage being possessed. Despite Anders… he was still Anders and that was all the reasoning Fenris could come up with. Any other, if he met anyone who had just one of those flaws… he’d never allowed them to become close enough to…

Fenris slammed his fists on the mantelpiece of the hall’s fireplace before he turned to pace back to the other side of the hall again.

Night had settled firmly over Hightown, when Fenris finally stopped pacing. Instead, he dragged a moth eaten armchair over to the fire and curled up in it. Anders wouldn’t come. He had resigned himself to that fact. It was probably his fault too.

The embers were about to die. He’d have to put another log on the fire soon. Or just leave it be and go to bed, alone. He wasn’t even hungry anymore anyway. Around dusk, he’d made sure all food was safely stored, in jars and baskets with lids. Just because he didn’t want to eat now that he had nobody to share it with didn’t mean he’d allow the rodents to have a feast on his coin.

He’d almost gathered enough strength to swallow his hatred and anger, when he heard something from the cellars. It sounded like a curse, followed by a thud and more curses. Curious, Fenris got up, taking his sword from where he’d leaned it against the wall, as he stalked over to the stairs down to the cellar.

Another crash followed by the sound of breaking glass greeted Fenris as he quietly opened the door. “Maker’s blue blighted balls!” Fenris lowered his sword. He knew that voice, he knew that brand of cheerful blasphemy. However, he was mad enough at Anders for showing up this late that he simply leaned against the doorframe and waited instead of helping the mage find his way upstairs. When he heard yet another thud followed by a slew of curses, he pushed the door open further to allow a slight bit of light into the cellar.

“Fenris?” Anders called. “Is that you? Could you—blighted, trice damned boxes, ouch—could you bring me a light down here?”

“Why don’t you light one yourself? You are a mage,” Fenris called back. 

“Oh, yeah, I completely forgot about the one defining trait I have,” Anders snarked back. “I can’t. Too tired. Maker, how much debris can one cellar hold? Did you just dump everything busted down here?”

“The less busted things I kept upstairs, it’s only the already destroyed ones that are down there,” Fenris replied. He’d pushed off the door frame and was now uncertainty hovering on the top of the stairs down into the cellar. Too tired to even make a light didn’t sound good. “Hold on, I will come back with a candle.”

Having fetched the candle he kept on the mantelpiece, Fenris climbed down into the cellar, trying not to hurry too much. He was worried for his mage, still he felt like he should stay angry with him as well. “You could have sent word that you are too tired to come after all,” Fenris said as he walked down the stairs.

“After it took you days to work up the nerve to ask me over? Never.” Anders yawned. He was leaning against a wine rack he had not torn down in his blind stumble. “Besides, any urchin I could have sent is too scared of the haunted mansion anyway.”

Fenris scoffed. He’d have liked to cross his arms in front of his chest now that he was standing in front of Anders but with the candle it wasn’t a possibility. He settled on a scowl instead. “Then these urchins are weak.”

“Oh don’t act like you’re not entirely too pleased with that,” Anders laughed. 

“Maybe,” Fenris allowed. “Are you ready to make your way upstairs or should I bring our dinner down here?”

Anders narrowed his eyes. “Y’know, whenever you say things like that, I just cannot figure out if it’s actual concern or if you’re just mocking me.”

“There is always the third option: I take pleasure in making you suffer and found a way to do so without burdening my conscience.” For good measure, Fenris added a small smile to his words. 

“Right.” Anders straightened up. “So you said before. But I still don’t believe you.”

“Are you insinuating I care about some mage?” Fenris huffed. “Perish the thought.”

“Good thing then I’m not just some mage,” Anders chirped, bumping his shoulder against Fenris. “Can we go upstairs now?”

Fenris rolled his eyes. “I was about to leave you down here.” He realized those words had been a mistake as soon as Anders’ hand closed around his wrist with an iron grip. 

“Don’t…” Anders whispered. “Don’t.”

There was a story behind this reaction, a story Fenris didn’t know. He could guess, though, and what he could piece together had him clench and unclench his fists to deal with the waves of anger boiling inside him at the thoughts. “I won’t. I promise.” He swallowed. “And I do care about my friends. That includes you.”

Anders’ grip relaxed. Fenris pulled his wrist free in reflex. The warmth on Anders’ touch remained, prickled. Fenris hesitated for a moment before he took Anders’ hand and squeezed gently. “I am sorry,” he murmured.

Anders squeezed back. “It’s alright. Let’s just go upstairs. Where it’s brighter and less… cellar-y.”

Fenris nodded. He turned, not letting go of Anders’ hand, leading him upstairs. The fire in the hall had burned down, barely embers left. Fenris put the candle on the floor next to the fireplace, adding new kindling and poking fresh life into the fire. He could feel Anders watching him but didn’t turn around until the fire was bright and warm.

Anders was still standing where Fenris had let go of his hand. He looked lost, his eyes fixed on Fenris, or the fire, or both. It was clear that his gaze wasn’t. He was somewhere far away, or long gone. Likely both.

“I could make you a tea,” Fenris suggested apropos of nothing. The witch seemed to think tea solved most problems. Fenris had yet to find a flaw in the theory and he kept trying. It didn’t hurt anyway. Holding onto and ingesting something warm did calm people.

“Tea,” Anders repeated. “You’re actually offering tea. What… who are you and what have you done to the grumpy, angry, spiteful elf I knew and Maker knows why tolerated.”

Fenris rolled his eyes. “Wine it is then. For me. None for you.” He bit his lip. “Better?” he rumbled. “I could also yell at you to drink the tea I bring you without asking if that would help.”

“Tea would be nice.” Anders sighed. “I’m sorry. I… guess I need a bit more time to… figure this out, I suppose. I know you’re trying to be nice. And I… I just acted like a dick for no reason.”

“For a start, you could sit down.” Fenris sighed theatrically. “And I shall fetch you tea and dinner.” His lips twitched. “Or you could help.”

Anders nodded eagerly. “Help. Helping is definitely better.”

There were no words to describe the flutter in his chest that Fenris had to swallow at that. He hadn’t expected Anders not to help, but to have a mage, a powerful mage, outright, without question, decide to help, did something to him. It was just another small reminder that whatever Fenris said when he was upset and lashing out, Anders was most definitely not a magister.

“We could eat in the kitchen,” Anders babbled, apparently unaware of the  _ feelings _ Fenris had to suffer. “I’ve always wanted to do that. It wasn’t allowed, you see? Neither in the circle, as if they’d ever allow something that’d put mages near sharp objects not held by Templars, nor at Vigil’s Keep, mostly because it’s difficult enough to feed a bunch of Wardens when they don’t get in the way of the cooking and… Fenris, are you alright?”

Fenris raised an eyebrow at him. “Were you saying something?” He pushed the door to the kitchen open. 

“Oh, come on, I know you have perfectly fine hearing!” Anders whined.

“I do. But it doesn’t mean I have to actually listen to you.” Fenris looked around the room. The kitchen was probably the cleanest room in the entire mansion, his bedroom included. They could eat here. Maybe put a rug on the floor or drag in two chairs, whichever they could find first. “If it means that much to you,” he sighed. “We could eat in the kitchen.”

Anders let out a delighted little noise, clapping his hands together like an excited child. It was a delight Fenris wanted to keep in his life as long as possible. 

“I will have to find us chairs,” Fenris declared. “In the meantime, you can find us plates and take the food out.”

Anders looked around the kitchen. “Find us plates,” he repeated. “You make it sound like you don’t even know whether you have plates. You’ve been living here for years. How can you not know where the plates are?”

“Maybe I want to keep you entertained until I return,” Fenris said, already halfway out the door again. “I’m sure you’ll be capable of setting a table.”

"Sure I can," Anders, never one to let others have the last word, hollered after him. Fenris couldn't help but smile to himself. It was so easy to go back to their usual teasing and bickering, even easier now that they both were sure the other meant no harm. It didn't mean that no harm would be caused, but at the very least, it was not intended and thus could be made up for. Having Anders in his home did not feel anything like he'd made it out to be. It was a sense of everything being right, as if Anders just belonged in his home, pouting to get his will in small ways.

In the end, Fenris had to search several rooms in that wing of the mansion until he'd found two chairs that wouldn't break down when sat on. They didn't match at all and neither matched the kitchen table, but Fenris supposed that didn't matter. He dragged the chairs back to the kitchen, pushing the door open with a foot. Anders had used the time to not only set the table but start a fire and set a pot of water on it to boil.

He was rummaging through the cabinets when Fenris entered. “Did you know you have mice?” Anders asked without even bothering to turn around. “Well, at least it’s not rats. I hate rats. Dark Town has so many rats and I… all I want is to throw fireballs at them so they stay away but the blighted buggers are too smart to fall for most tricks twice and…”

Fenris leaned with both arms on the back of one of the chairs and watched his mage’s back while he kept blabbering.

“...maybe a cat would help to keep them out of my stash but I can’t get one to stick around with me even though I try…”

Anders moved onto the next cabinet. He was a bit slower than usual in his movements and much less erratic. Fenris could tell he was tired but telling him to sit down and wait while Fenris made the tea he had promised would mean Fenris would have to stop watching. He was loathe to do that.

Suddenly, Anders jumped backward with a yelp. “Mouse! Fenris, I swear by Andraste’s ample bossom, there was a mouse there!” He pointed accusingly at the cabinet he’d been searching.

Fenris smirked. He meant to smile, Anders was being adorable in an undignified sort of way. It just became a smirk on its own. “Should I save you from the itty-bitty mouse?”

Anders smashed the cabinet door shut. “No, I’m perfectly able to defend myself,” he huffed. “But may I suggest a cat? Or many cats, even.” He finally turned around so Fenris could see his flustered face. “You could just tell me where you store your tea!”

“I could, but if I had done so earlier I hadn’t learned that you are afraid of tiny rodents,” Fenris smirked. He pushed off the chair to take a plain pot from the mantle above the fire. “And I believe you already suggested a cat before. I am uncertain, would that get rid of the mice or just get you to be around much much more?”

“Probably both,” Anders chirped, taking the offered pot and crumbling some into a mug. “Tea?”

Fenris shook his head. “No.”

“Suit yourself.” Anders put the pot back on the mantle before finishing fixing his tea. He sank onto the second chair with a low sigh.

“You should not overwork yourself so,” Fenris observed. “Though I assume telling you that is pointless. I shall not keep you up long after dinner then.”

Anders nodded, whether at both statements or either. “So, dinner? I found bread and cheese and a couple of apples and some carrots and… uh… I think that’s all.”

“That is all,” Fenris confirmed. “I did not know what you’d enjoy, so I bought what I would get usually.”

“Good choices, at any rate,” Anders agreed, cutting himself a large piece of cheese. The slice of bread he cut off the loaf was equally large. Fenris made a note to himself that he would definitely make Anders come over often, not just for the company but because the man was clearly starving. 

The slices Fenris cut himself of bread and cheese were much thinner. He didn’t even dig in right away, much unlike Anders. Instead, he started to cut one of the apples into slices, splitting them evenly between his plate and Anders’. He was aware that his mage was more than capable of cutting up apples himself, or, more likely, would just bite into the whole fruit. It was the reason why he was doing it. If he’s been asked, he’d had refused.

Anders was too busy eating to talk. Another quirk Fenris had noticed before, another reason why he should be fed more often. However, it also allowed Fenris to watch his mage, committing the scene to his memory as well as he could, from the slight flush of his cheeks to the wrinkle of his nose and the way his eyes were barely half open. He could now see that while Anders clearly tried to shave, occasionally, he did not do so evenly. 

The situation was so familiar it made his heart ache with longing. He could just reach out and put his hand on Anders’. He could lean over the old table to kiss him, nose, forehead, cheek, lips, anywhere.

“You alright?” Anders asked between a bite and a gulp of tea. “You looked a thousand miles away just now.”

“I was merely lost in thought.”

“Sure.” Anders was looking at him strangely. “Don’t tell me what’s bothering you. That’s fine.”

“I am not bothered.” Fenris bit down into a slice of apple.

Anders rolled his eyes. “No, just distracted.”

“Do you want my attention fixed upon you day and night, mage?” Fenris sighed, hoping it came across lightly enough to hide that he’d been distracted by Anders often enough. The mage did not trust him entirely. They were friends. Repeating those two thoughts didn’t do much anymore to keep his attention where it belonged, be it on Hawke and his companions or some mediocre thug that attacked him.

Anders squinted, hand holding the last remnants of his bread frozen halfway to his mouth. “No,” he finally said with a shudder, putting the food down. “Been there. It’d gotten exhausting real quick.”

Another one of those tiny remarks that hinted at a bigger story Anders wouldn’t tell. Another one of those tiny remarks that set Fenris’ blood to boil at the same time as the dark, icy shudders of the past ran down his spine. “You are right, however,” Fenris switched course. “I could pay you more attention. For example, I could note that the next time, I should buy more to eat for you.”

Anders looked at his almost empty plate, at the crumbs that remained of the loaf of bread Fenris had only bought this afternoon. He blushed. “You must think me a glutton now.”

“I think my invitation came just at the right time.” Fenris did his best to smile, actually smile not smirk. He hadn’t intended to make Anders feel ashamed of himself. “Another day and you might have starved.”

“Oh, it’s not that bad,” Anders quickly assured him. He’d probably said that a million times before. “I do eat.”

Fenris tilted his head, not at all convinced.

“I promise you, I will not just fall over the moment you or or Varric or anyone stops feeding me. I am capable of feeding myself,” Anders protested.

“That is not what… worries me,” Fenris confided. He had lowered his head, unable to bear looking at Anders and his reaction. “I am worried that you forget about it. Or that you think you might not deserve it. Or that you decide others need it more.”

“Oh.”

And then Anders said nothing anymore. It took Fenris agonizing long moments to work up the nerve to lift his head. Anders had turned his head away, wiping frantically at his face with a grubby sleeve. He was shaking a little. 

“Should I not have said that?” Fenris asked. 

“I…” Anders shook his head, his voice strained and muffled. “Not sure. I’m just… I’m not used to people telling me they care like this.” He dabbed at his face once more. “Or, you know, to just flat out tell me to my face that they look right through me. My bullshit. Something like that.” He laughed that strange laugh he always used when he was deflecting. “I liked it better when you were just mean.”

“Of course,” Fenris deadpanned. He stood up. “Will you still come to bed with me?”

“I really don’t get you,” Andere sighed. “But yeah, it’s why I came after all.” He cleared his throat. “Why I came here,” he corrected.

“Exactly.” The corner of Fenris’ mouth twitched. “I believe Isabela would have something to say about that last remark.”

That made Anders groan. “She’d be probably be writing it all down later. If she hasn’t written more about us already.”

“More?” Fenris quirked an eyebrow as he tried to gently steer Anders around broken floor boards and other pitfalls to the stairs. Anders was tired enough to allow it. “What has she written already?”

“It’s… better if you don’t know.” Anders cleared his throat again. “It included chains. And things I’m pretty sure you can’t do. And things I know I can’t. Extraordinarily dirty, even by Isabela’s standards.”

Fenris nodded. Anders was probably right. Chains… he’d never allow himself to be chained ever again. And he would never do it to anyone else, either. Especially not… 

Now atop the stairs, he pushed his mage into the master bedroom. “Remember, no sex,” he rumbled.

“Trust me,” Anders yawned. “I’m too tired for anything beyond sleep anyway.”

Fenris looked him up and down. “You look it, too.” He brushed a stay strand of hair out of Anders’ face. “That is why I expect you to go to bed now.”

“Oh, you expect me to go,” Anders repeated. “What’s next? Will you order me to undress?”

Fenris dropped his hand as if he’d been burnt. He turned away, steeling himself. They were still barely friends, he reminded himself. Just because he’d dropped his walls a little did not mean Anders was willing to do the same.

A hand landed on his shoulder. “Hey, hey, Fenris, I’m sorry. I didn’t… it was a joke. A stupid joke.” The hand squeezed for the briefest moment. “You said this wasn’t about sex. I agreed. I shouldn’t… don’t… please… don’t feel bad about a quip I made.” 

Fenris put his hand over Anders. “Explain.” A pause. “...please.”

“You really want me to…” Anders sighed. “I guess I owe it to you now, huh? I’m bad at this, though. I’m really really bad. I mean, we’re friends, I know, but not like… I haven’t even told Varric some of this. I haven’t told Ha… anyone. At all.”

“You’re babbling.” Fenris squeezed the hand on his shoulder for encouragement. He was thankful that Anders had thought better before bringing Hawke up. “I will not judge you.”

“Okay. An explanation. The truth.” Anders’ hand was twitching, like he wanted to pull it away but forcing himself to keep touching Fenris anyway. “I’mnotusedtobeinvitedtobedroomsforanyotherreasonthansex.” The words came out in a rush so fast Fenris had trouble following. “I mean,” Anders added, slower and much more quiet. “Who’d want me for anything else? At least I used to be pretty when I shut my mouth.”

Fenris turned around. He wanted, desperately, to hug Anders and kiss him and tell him that was nonsense. However, Anders probably wouldn’t believe him. Not now, maybe not ever. He still hugged him, hoping at least he himself would feel better for it. He didn’t. “I invited you for anything but that.” He vowed to himself that he would not sleep with Anders, not tonight, not ever, until Anders knew how he felt about him. “I…” A lie. The truth. Anything to give Anders a reason that went beyond his true feelings. “Sex is… difficult for me. I would trust you, but… not yet. Not now. Maybe never.”

Anders wrapped his arms around Fenris and held him tight. They stayed like that for a long time. 

“You need sleep.” Fenris eventually pulled back just enough to look in Anders’ face. He touched his cheek instead of kissing him like he wanted. “Bed?”

“Bed.”


	4. Chapter 4

In the tent, Fenris had not expected to end up cuddling with Anders. In his own bed, where to he had invited his mage, he had expected cuddling to happen. They'd even fallen asleep while he'd held Anders close, listening to the way magic that close made his brands hum. 

And yet, he woke up on the far end of the bed from Anders, with a wide, empty, cold space between them. He wasn't sure why he had not thought this possible. They were both used to sleeping alone. They weren't a couple. Fenris didn't even usually like touch.

Anders was still soundly asleep, his breaths deep and even, curled in on himself and hogging all the blanket. Fenris smiled. Despite everything that went against his anticipation of this morning, he could get used to it. 

A hand on Anders’ shoulder and the tiniest hint of a tug was all it took to get him to roll over to face Fenris. More than that, the motion brought him right up against Fenris’ chest, where he settled down again with a sigh. Fenris flushed. Still, he put his arm around the mage. He could feign sleep should Anders wake. For the moment, he contented himself with holding him close, safe in his arms and safe from the world outside the bed.

He must have fallen back asleep. The next thing Fenris knew was his mind slowly drifting back from the fade because of tiny noises, because of nails digging through his tunic in his back. He was still holding Anders. The grip the mage had on him relaxed as he stroked his back. Another nightmare, Fenris assumed, wondering what had brought it about. 

He didn't need wondering long. The harsh, heavy knocks on his front door that had woken him as much as Anders' distress, repeated himself. He knew the knocking. It didn't keep him from silently cursing Hawke for the disruption, the intrusion on their morning together.

"Anders," he whispered, knowing fully well that if he did not greet Hawke at the door soon they'd just let themself in. "I have to…" He paused. He had to do what? Leave? Probably the wrong word. "I have to get up. Hawke is at the door."

Anders' eyes blinked open slowly, his gaze unfocused with sleep. He made a noise in the back of his throat and snuggled closer, tucking his head against Fenris' neck.

Fenris sighed. He was loathe to leave his mage, but letting Hawke find them as they were would lead to… undesired consequences. As carefully as he could, he freed himself, slow and mindful not to disturb Anders in his sleep. 

As he left the bedroom, another unvoiced sigh of regret in his throat, Hawke was just pushing open the front door, stowing away their set of lock picks. Fenris stopped at the top of the stairs to glare down at the intruder.

"You're up late," Hawke chirped by means of greeting. "Long, busy night?"

"What do you  _ want _ , Hawke?" Fenris cut through the bullshit.

"Ouch, grumpy this morning, are we?" Hawke shrugged. "I got a job today that I could use your help with." They tried for a smile. "It comes with killing slavers, your favorite, Fenris."

His favorite… He thought about the pit of white hot rage that had settled in his stomach last night, suppressing the urge to turn around and look at his bedroom door. His fists flexed. Killing slavers wasn't exactly what he felt like doing today, but it would be a start. Or at least a worthy target for his rage, while he couldn't get to those he really, desperately wanted to make pay for their deeds. "Fine, Hawke," he ground out.

Hawke shoot him a winning smile. "I knew you'd be happy about that." At Fenris' withering glare, they added: "Meet you at the Hanged Man when you're ready."

Fenris did not wait for Hawke to leave, instead he turned on his heels and stalked back into his bedroom. He found Anders up, his back to the door, fully dressed. Fenris clenched his fists. He hadn't expected the morning to go this way. He hadn't meant for Anders to wake up alone.

"Hawke left," he reported. He didn't know what else to say. He wanted to apologize for leaving, but wasn't certain how well that would be received. "They have a job for me today."

Anders had his shoulders pulled forward, his head bowed and back hunched. All in all a posture Fenris was far too familiar with, a tall man trying to both protect himself and making himself as small and inoffensive as possible. Fenris padded over to him and, after a moment’s hesitation in which he contemplated putting a hand on Anders’ shoulder, he stepped next to him, shifting his weight so he could lean lightly against his mage without losing balance.

“I had to leave if I didn’t wish Hawke to intrude.”

Anders huffed. “Cutting right to the point, are we?”

“I see no reason to obscure my intentions.” Fenris flexed his fingers. “I do not wish Hawke in my bedroom. However, I did not wish to le-“

“Don’t,” Anders cut him off. “I don’t… I can’t… not this morning. Don’t be nice. I can’t stand you being nice.”

Fenris took his hand and squeezed lightly. He promised himself he would be nice until Anders could stand it. The slavers couldn’t cross his path soon enough. “You do not have to stay if you do not feel comfortable.”

“How do you do it? How do you…” Anders pulled his hand free to fidget with one of the clasps on his coat. “Last night was nice. So was this morning until…” He sighed. “I’m sorry. I don’t get how you can stand even being around me.”

Fenris shoot him a look. “Do you require company?”

“No, no.” Anders tugged at the clasp, hard. “No, I’m sure Hawke needs you, or they wouldn’t have asked. I’ll be fine.”

Fenris bit his lip. “I will come to you when we return,” he promised. “Do not overwork yourself.” A pause of consideration. “Do not overwork yourself too much.”

“You still don’t have any trust in my ability to care for myself, do you?” Anders may have laughed, but he did take Fenris’ hand for a brief moment and squeezed.

Fenris’ lip twitched. “I will trust it as soon as you will give me reason to.”

“Right.” The mage straightened his robes. “I… ah. I should get going. Don’t want to risk Hawke showing up at my clinic when I’m not there and having to lie to them. And you probably should get back in your spiky armor.”

“Hawke would have told me if they planned on bringing you. They always do.”

Anders shook his head. For the first time that morning he turned to face Fenris. “Thank you…” He was blushing a little, plainly visible against his pale skin. “Just in general, thank you, Fenris. For the invitation and… and everything else.” 

There was a faint blue shimmer in his eyes, a tint Fenris couldn’t put any meaning to, not without putting undue blame on Justice. It distracted Fenris enough that he didn’t flinch back when Anders leaned closer. He didn’t realize what happened until Anders pulled back, flushed crimson, holding up his hands, his amber eyes wide and panicked.

“I… sorry…” Anders turned on his heel and fled. 

———

Fenris arrived at the Hanged Man an hour later. An embarrassingly large portion of that hour had not been spent productively, but either frozen from shock, clutching his cheek, or, worst, cursing himself for not turning his head ever so slightly. Fenris could still feel Anders' breath against his cheek and his lips on his skin. It was wonderful, when he thought of it as a thank you. It felt awful when he considered it in the light of last night's confession. And Justice…

Fenris dodged a drunkard to make his way to the stairs.

Justice would not allow Anders to treat him like one of those men. Probably. He hadn't seemed that way the one time they had talked. It was curious. Fenris would have to ask, if he was able to muster the nerve to see Anders and talk to him. Anders had kissed him. On the cheek, with Justice awake and aware, but he had kissed him. Fenris touched his cheek one last time before entering Varric's room without so much as a knock.

Hawke was perched on the corner of the table nearest to Varric, the rogues whispering among themselves. Fenris cleared his throat. He did not like to intrude, but he liked them not noticing him even less. "Varric." He nodded at the dwarf, before simply glaring at Hawke. He hadn't forgiven the rude awakening yet.

"Fenris," Hawke broke into a broad smile. They hopped down from the table and came toward Fenris, arms wide. "Wasn't sure you'd be able to make it."

"Obviously, I did, Hawke." Fenris allowed the brief hug, knowing that resistance was pointless with Hawke. "Who else is coming?"

"Isabela," Hawke replied easily. "Once she finishes with last night's spoils. Her words, not mine. Invited me inside, actually. So, who did you do last night?"

"Usually, people ask what, not who, Hawke."

"Oh no, I know what, but you have to tell us the who." Fenris could see Varric uncap a bottle of ink behind Hawke, quill at the ready.

"I slept, Hawke. In my bed." Fenris sighed. "Alas, despite everything you imagine, I do not enjoy sleeping around."

"Fenris, Fenris, while your ability to hide any feelings is impeccable, you did have some lipstick on your neck this morning."

"Implying that I would choose to lie with somebody wearing lipstick." Fenris shrugged. "I am uncertain what I prefer, but I have not considered a woman. I hope this information will make your next bluff more believable, Hawke."

"So, Broody slept in his own bed, doesn't enjoy sleeping around and isn't interested in women," Varric counted off. "Sounds like he has a boyfriend, if you'd ask me, Hawke."

"Oooooh." Hawke's eyes went wide. "Do we know him? Will you introduce us if we promise to play nice? Do you need dating tips?"

Fenris shot Varric a glare full of venom. "No."

"No what? No tips? No we don't know him? No boyfriend?"

"...boyfriend?" purred Isabela from the door. "Whose boyfriend? Did you finally manage to get Anders to bed with you, Hawke?"

Fenris did his best to think peaceful thoughts. When that did not help, he imagined gutting slavers, which helped not gutting Hawke instead. 

"Justice is against it," Hawke admitted, scratching the back of their neck. "And that's, apparently, the last word on the matter. No approval from the resident spirit, no luck."

"Hawke, if we are all here now, what is the job you'll have us do?" Fenris ground out.

"Oh, Broody is in a bad mood today," Isabela chirped. "Let's hope it involves a lot of slavers. That should cheer you up."

—-

It was long past noon when the cave Hawke was leading them to came into view. Fenris had said preciously little on the way, growing more and more annoyed with Hawke and Isabela with each jab they took at him, each try to get any information about his private life out of him. 

He’d hung back with Varric when Hawke started to recount the morning’s events as damning evidence for Fenris having some sort of lover. Varric at least tried to talk about the weather.

“Don’t be too mad at Hawke,” Varric murmured eventually. “They only got turned down two days ago and need to distract themself from their own broken heart.”

Fenris made a non-commital noise. He opened his mouth to respond, but then he noticed people at the cave entrance ahead. He snapped his mouth shut again. “Is that why Hawke didn’t bring any mage? Templars?” he hissed.

“I thought you liked templars,” Varric murmured back. There was a hint of accusation in that sentence. “They do have most of the Southern mages under their thumb.”

Fenris cast a look ahead at Hawke and Isabela who were now greeting the templars. He leaned down to Varric when he was sure nobody was paying them much attention. “I have considered the idea that the yammering mage might have a point.”

Varric’s eyebrows shot up. “Maker…” He shook his head. “That was a little unexpected.”

“Merrill advised me to be more involved with the elves in the city,” Fenris lied. “Templars did them no better than the Magisterium.”

“Sure.” Varric shrugged. “So how’s having Blondie in your bed?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Sure you don’t.”

To Fenris’ luck, Hawke was waving them over at that moment so he didn’t have to respond. At least the templars gave no indication that they’d join them in the cave. Fenris thanked the Maker his friends kept mentioning for small blessings.

“They’re ahead in the cave,” Hawke explained. “A lot of slavers and at least one apostate. We’re to bring the apostate back out alive. They didn’t say anything about the slavers.” They shot Fenris an encouraging smile. 

Fenris rolled his eyes at them. “Let’s get this over with.”

The part about the slavers proved to be true. They hadn’t even made it out of the tunnel before they ran into the first group. They didn’t provide much of a fight, though their deaths were at least somewhat satisfying. Fenris didn’t even wait for a moment before storming on, ready to find another fight.

Clearing the cave of slavers was easy. The apostate however was more difficult, with Hawke insisting they leave him alive. Fenris left it to them and Isabela, opting to search the holding cells instead. There was a handful of people, mostly elves, they could free and send outside now that the fighting had died down. But there were the usual few who couldn’t make it out on their own. Most were helped by other would be slaves. In the end, only a mother and her child were left behind. 

Fenris crouched down next to the child, seeing the worry in the mother’s face. 

“Shit, we should have brought Blondie,” Varric commented. 

Fenris shot him a look. They should always bring a healer.  The child had trouble breathing and a quick press of his palm against the child’s forehead showed a raised temperature. Varric was right, they’d need Anders to do something about this. Fenris knew how to deal with all kinds of wounds, but a flu was beyond him.

“Will the little one make it to the city?” Fenris asked, brushing the child’s bangs back.

The mother looked at him with wide eyes. “I… yes, Serah,” she murmured.

“But?” Fenris tried to smile, to encourage and soften where he would usually be frightening and hard.

“I’m too weak myself to carry her,” the mother admitted. “Please…”

She looked so pained. She was fearing for both their lives. Fenris recognized the expression. He’d seen it far too often in the past. He turned to Varric. 

“Don’t say it, Broody,” the dwarf waved him off. “I’ll let Hawke know. We can’t just leave them here like this.”

Fenris nodded. He wished he’d dare to take his armor off, but it was of no use now. They were done fighting for the moment, however that did not mean they wouldn’t be ambushed later. At least in armor he wasn’t as afraid of getting himself, or the child, hurt. He picked up the child in both arms. With a little coaxing, she wrapped her arms around his neck, her hot breath rattling in Fenris’ ear. He stroked her back to calm her. 

“We will get you help,” he whispered. “You will be better in no time.”

——-

Fenris stood aside with the child in his arms and the mother hovering next to him while Hawke was talking to the templars. They were explaining at length that there hadn’t been any apostate as far as they all could tell, so they had killed the slavers, freed the prisoners and come back out. The templars didn’t seem much convinced, but their disbelief crumbled under the assault of Hawke’s words. 

Eventually, they were let off. The templars said they’d be investigating themselves but Hawke had gotten good at hiding the traces left behind by apostates. Likely the templars wouldn’t find anything. Fenris just hoped the apostate would manage to get away. Maybe not to the border, but some place they could hide in peace.

The trek back to the city was long and slow. Even Fenris grew tired eventually, the child heavier in his arms with each step. The slow pace they kept to allow the mother to follow in step was a blessing. Hawke suggested a break until morning, but Fenris declined. He could feel the child’s fever, feel her burn up steadily. She needed help, quick. They couldn’t wait until morning.

It was past nightfall when they arrived at Darktown. Hawke was by then supporting the mother, half carrying her as well. The lamp at the clinic was still lit, despite the late hour. Fenris was both relieved and concerned at the sight. He’d hoped Anders would get rest, but he also knew that work, a purpose, was often easier than being alone with one’s thoughts. 

The clinic was still fairly busy, about half the cots occupied. There was only one of Anders helpers present. Hawke waved at her, before sitting the mother down on the nearest cot. Fenris put the child down on the cot next to her, tucking her in. She was coughing softly.

He stayed by her side while Hawke was fetching Anders. He didn’t want to see the healer alone. Holding the hand of a child he’d carried all the way to the clinic gave him some purpose. She was holding onto him as well, clinging as she had while he was carrying her.

Anders looked exhausted when he slowly sank to his knees next to the mother. His hands were shaking again, but the glow around them was steady as he examined the child. Fenris watched him, not daring to let go of the child’s hand. He helped her sit up at Anders’ direction, supported her while the healer used his magic to get mucus out of her lungs.

“Will she be alright?” the mother asked when the glow around Anders’ hands subsided. She was so quiet only Anders and Fenris could hear her. 

Anders smiled at her, obviously tired. “She’ll be fine,” he promised her. “She needs rest more than anything but it is good you brought her here. Her fever is higher than I’d like and I should keep an eye on her. I will give you a salve to rub on her chest and a tea for her to drink once she wakes up. If you notice anything, don’t hesitate to fetch me.”

The mother nodded. She had taken her child’s free hand and looked concerned. “Thank you, Serah Healer,” she whispered.

“Try to get some rest,” Anders advised. He looked over at Fenris, avoiding his eyes. “Thank you for bringing her here. Hawke said it was your idea?”

“The child was in need of help.”

“Still… you didn’t have to.”

“We could not have left her.” Fenris flexed his fingers. “Can we…” He swallowed, lowering his voice further. “Can we talk?”

“Later.” Anders’ voice wasn’t as firm as he’d like to think. He looked over to Hawke. “I’ll be back.”


	5. Chapter 5

Fenris sat where Anders had left him. He watched him talk to Hawke and Varric, before bustling off to see after yet another patient that could just as well wait until morning. His hand was still being clutched by the child. It made him feel complicated, his chest constricted and warm. She didn’t know anything about him. But she trusted him enough to cling onto him as much as she was clinging onto her own life.

He heard Hawke approach more than he saw it. For a rogue, Hawke knew exactly when they didn’t have to walk quietly. Fenris appreciated that about them. “We’re leaving,” Hawke declared. “Would only get under Anders’ feet if we’d stay. You coming?” They leaned in conspiratorially. “Might be early enough still to catch your boyfriend awake.”

“I…” Fenris pressed his lips together. He carefully shifted the hand the child was still holding. “I cannot leave. I am still needed here.”

“Oh.” Hawke’s expression moved as if they weren’t sure whether to be surprised or smiling or teasing. “Oh, well. Try not to get into a fight with Anders, then. We need you both.”

The corner of Fenris’ mouth twitched up. “I will keep that in mind.”

Hawke shrugged. “See you around.” They left with Varric in tow. Varric, who paused at the door and gave Fenris a quick thumbs up. Fenris rolled his eyes. He did not need the encouragement of a dwarf who thought he was better informed than he actually was. He’d have stayed regardless of the child if he’d wanted to. 

He looked up at the mother. She looked so tired. The walk had been as long for her as for her child. She eventually noticed his gaze upon her and bowed her head. “I’m so sorry, Serah,” she said. “We didn’t mean to be this much of a burden on you.”

Fenris shook his head. “It is no burden,” he assured her. “I… am glad I can be of help, be it as little as it is.”

Steps approached them again and Fenris didn’t have to turn to know it was Anders. The hopeful expression on the mother’s face had told him as much. He still turned.

“I have the salve…” Anders’ voice faltered when he looked at Fenris. He cleared his throat. “The salve for her chest.”

The mother took the offered pot from him with a continuous stream of thanks from her lips. Anders brushed the thanks aside with a modest smile. He meant to be running. Fenris could tell. Only his patients were keeping him. Knowing he was the cause of that made Fenris shift uncomfortably.

He freed his hand from the child, gently and with no use of his markings. “I need to borrow the healer for a moment,” he said to the mother and the room as a whole. Before Anders could even protest, he’d grabbed his arm and was dragging him back to his room. “You owe me,” Fenris hissed, cutting off any resistance Anders might have tried to muster. 

There wasn’t much privacy in the tiny backroom. It was only separated from the main room by a flimsy curtain, more for the look of things than any tangible purpose. The furniture consisted of a rickety bed with a lumpy mattress, a chair and a desk strewn with papers. Not much of a home, not more than a stolen derelict mansion.

“Well?” Anders asked when Fenris let go of him. He was trying to be annoyed, but he seemed too tired even for that. 

"You left rather suddenly this morning." Fenris told the ceiling. He did not dare look at Anders. 

"Weeeell," Anders drew out the word. "I also did do something extremely stupid before that."

Stupid. Right, for Anders, it had been a stupid impulse decision, not something he'd longed for. Fenis cleared his throat. "Do you regret it?"

"I'm not sure." Fenris looked at his mage, only to be met with a coy look. "Will I survive this talk?"

Fenris shrugged. He didn't like Anders playing this tactic. "Possibly, if you don't say anything stupid."

"In that case…" Anders sighed theatrically. "I don't. I think. I don't mind if you don't. I… might even have meant it. ...if that's ok with you. If not, we… we don't have to mention it ever again."

"It was a kiss on the cheek, Anders." Fenris rolled his eyes. "Not a confession of undying love."

Anders murmured something even Fenris couldn't make out. Then, at Fenris' raised brow, he said, louder: "Been there, done that, too. They don't last."

Fenris studied his mage. The words had been light, but the expression in his eyes was one of real pain. Not something that should be teased about, then. "I'm sorry to hear," he said sincerely.

They stood in silence for a long moment, both unsure of how to continue from there. Fenris didn't want to probe the old wound, but he couldn't think of another topic either. It was Anders that broke the silence, as most of the time. "So, you're not going to rip my heart out?"

"There are witnesses outside," Fenris pointed out. "If I had meant to kill you, I would not have announced I would be talking to you in private. That would be stupid."

"So, that's a no?" The hope in Anders' voice was heart wrenching in Fenris' ear.

"It is a not now."

"I'll take that," Anders chirped. "Always happy to be allowed to live another day."

"Anders…" It had to be said, Fenris realized. They could joke and dance around it all they wanted, but the words had to be spoken out loud. He took Anders by both shoulders in an effort to make him look at him. "You are my friend. I will not harm you. You do not have to fear me for something… something as innocent as a peck on the cheek."

“You…” Anders shook his head. “I don’t understand you. At all. You hate touch. You hate mages. You should be furious at me.” He raised his hands in a gesture of complete helplessness. “I don’t get why you’re still being nice.”

Fenris stepped up close to Anders. His hands slipped from his shoulders down the well muscled arms to his wrists. It was so intimate it was scary and making Fenris feel faint. He could see and hear Anders swallow, recognize rekindled fear in his eyes. There was a faint tinge of blue again. “Your spirit does not see me as a danger,” Fenris noted.

“Justice,” Anders said acidly. He tried to wiggle his hands free to no avail. “Is too distracted by your markings to care. ...could you, please, let me go?”

“Distracted by my markings,” Fenris repeated. He let go of Anders’ wrists but did not step back. “The lyrium, I assume.”

“He likes the song.” Anders shrugged. “It helps… both of us… when we’re homesick. It reminds us of home.”

Somewhat unsettling, but good to know in Fenris’ mind. He’d never considered that his mere presence could be calming on anyone. Or that his markings could be useful for anything that wasn’t destructing. “So, if I do this…” He activated the markings in his right hand and touched the palm of it against Anders’ cheek.

Anders leaned into the touch, eyes slipping closed, yet he protested: “You’re encouraging him.”

Fenris willed his markings to flicker out. However, he did not move his hand. “And this…?”

“Strange.” Anders let out a shuddering breath. “But fine.”

“For you both?”

Anders nodded, his stubble rasping against Fenris’ skin. 

“Good.” He put his other hand on the back of Anders’ neck. His mage was so ridiculously tall, even for a human. But when pulled, Anders went willingly, gettings his face level with Fenris. He swallowed, his breath catching. He licked his lips. “You are welcome in my home,” Fenris said slowly. He wanted Anders to understand. “Always.” He kissed Anders on the back of his nose, a short peck before his nerves deserted him and he let go. His heart was racing either way.

Anders looked completely dumbfounded.

“We should go back out.” Fenris crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Your patients need you.”

Very, very slowly, Anders raised a hand to his nose. He blinked a couple of times. “I… didn’t just imagine this… did I?”

Fenris glowered at him. How could a man this learned be this stupid at the same time. “I am rather sure I am not a desire demon here to tempt you.”

“A shame, really,” Anders sighed with a crooked smile. “It’d be nice.”

Fenris raised an eyebrow. “I am still opposed to sex.”

“I wasn’t…” Anders lifted his hands in defence. “Ok, I was. A little. But it wasn’t serious. I mean. You are gorgeous. Really, really gorgeous. But boundaries are boundaries and I won’t cross yours. Well… verbally, I have, obviously, repeatedly. But I wouldn’t do… uhm… I should have asked you before I kissed your cheek.”

“You would have lost your nerves if you had.” Fenris lowered his head. “As I would have, too.”

“So…” Anders held out his hand tentatively. “You really were fine with that kiss.”

“Apparently.” Fenris rolled his eyes. Then, the thought about the effect of his words. Less sarcasm, he reminded himself, more plain and simple. He sighed. “Yes, mage, I was fine with that kiss. And this one. I will also probably be fine with the next, if there ever is a next one.”

“The next?” Anders looked puzzled for a moment before he broke into a wide grin. “You like me.”

Fenris shoved his shoulder against Anders’ upper arm. “If it satisfies you and your childishness, then yes, I like you.”

“Like-like?”

“Don’t push it. More like an annoying little brother.”

“I’m pretty sure I’m older.”

“Neither of us knows my age. I will assume you are wrong, as always.” Fenris pointed at the curtain. “Now go and heal until you collapse or until you realize that a sensible person would tell those people to come back tomorrow after you got some rest.”

Anders shot him a strange look. “Will you stay?”

“I…” Fenris sighed. “I will stay. There is an elven mother out there that needs to be told to get some rest. I will watch over the child I carried here.”

“After you, then.” Anders bowed deep, causing Fenris to roll his eyes again. He pointed at the curtain.

Fenris drew the flimsy curtain aside carefully and stalked out of the room without a look back. He plopped down in the same seat he’d been sitting in before their talk. The child was still fast asleep but now smelled of sharp herbs.

It took long moments before he noticed that he was being stared at. Anders had gone back to work, a quick glance confirmed. The child was still asleep, no matter how long he watched her. But the mother was openly staring at him, a smile on her lips. 

Fenris raised an eyebrow.

“We were very lucky to run into you, Serah,” the mother said, a faint blush on her pale cheeks. “You are too kind. And that you’re close with the healer…”

Fenris shook his head. “We are merely friends.”

The corners of the mother’s eyes crinkled. "Of course. I understand." She smiled. "That's why the healer has such a spring in his step since your little talk."

"You must be seeing things." Fenris smiled at her. He'd noticed it, too, but it was nice to have outside confirmation. "Lack of sleep does such things. Get some rest, I will watch your child until you wake."

The woman yawned, rubbed her eyes, was about to protest but then just sighed. "I could do with a little rest. But please, Serah, let me know when she wakes."

Fenris made a non-commital noise. He did not wake the mother when the child opened her eyes in the wee hours of early morning, long after even Anders had realized that sleep was indeed, and against all his apparent believes, necessary. 

The child made no noise, gave no indication of consciousness, aside from her open eyes. She looked afraid, terrified. Fenris felt helpless in the face of it. "You are safe here," he whispered to the girl. "Your mother is in the bed next to you. I will now get up and make you a tea for your chest, but if you sit up, you will be able to see me the entire time." It was what he'd wished somebody had told him when he woke up, hurting, not knowing where he was. All the information needed to allow a feeling of grounding and safety.

He waited for the child to hint at a nod before getting up. One of the braziers heating and lighting the clinic was still burning. A kettle stood on the workbench against the back wall. Conveniently, the barrel with fresh water held still enough water. Anders kept his tea already in mixtures for the ailments he used them against. Fenris knew from the flu he'd suffered the previous winter. That knowledge also helped him find the right pot by smell. 

Anders did label the pots, but even though Fenris was able to decipher basic words in Trade, Anders' handwriting could be anything, from arcane runes to the footprints of a fly after a bath in the inkpot. Fenris still tried to puzzle out the label while he waited for the kettle to boil.

He took the kettle off the fire when the water inside was bubbling. A little rooting around in the workbench yielded a cup. Fenris measured some of the herbs into it, before filling the cup up with the hot water. He tested the cups temperature, wrapped a clean cloth around it and carried it over to the child.

“Drink,” he advised as he handed it to her. “It is probably not to your taste, but it will make you feel better.”

The child sniffed the cup. She pulled a face. “It smells bad.”

Fenris sat down. “It tastes bad, too.”

She tried it. “It’s worse.”

“You still have to drink it.” Fenris looked at her. Even in the dim light, he could see her hair sticking to her face. She was coughing softly every now and then. He put a hand to her forehead to check her temperature. She was still running a fever but less warm than she’d been during the day. “The tea will help you to get better.”

“Promise?”

“Promise. But only if you drink it all and then go back to sleep.”

She nipped at the tea again, trying very hard and very obviously to put on a brave face. “Will you stay until I’m asleep?”

“Of course.”

She remained quiet until about three quarters of her tea were gone. It allowed Fenris to lean back and close his eyes. He wouldn’t actually sleep that night. He’d already resigned himself to the fact. Not because of the child. Not because he was sitting in a mage’s den or in Darktown. Not because of himself. But while he knew, intellectually, that the people of Darktown respected Anders and the sanctity of his clinic, his unease of sleeping this unsecured didn’t allow him more than a rest.

“Will you tell me a story?” the child asked. Fenris sat back up so he could see into the cup. There were still a few gulps of tea left.

“Will you drink while I tell it?” 

The child nodded.

“What kind of story would you like?”

"A story with dragons," the child whispered with wide eyes. "And talking animals and and and gri-pons!"

Fenris arched an eyebrow. "Do you mean gryphons?"

The child nodded with more enthusiasm than was probably wise in her state. "Those. Like Wardens have."

"Fine," Fenris sighed. "A tale with a dragon, talking animals and a gryphon. Well, let me think… There once was a dragon. She loved flying over the countryside and making friends. She also loved burning down evil slavers and rescuing small elven children. One day, the mighty dragon chanced upon a wolf, a big, scary black wolf. The wolf, however, was unwell. The dragon saw this and worried for the wolf. The dragon did not know how to help, but she knew where to find help. So she flew to the far mountains and the highest peak."

"Was there snow?" the child asked. She had emptied her cup.

"Yes," Fenris confirmed. He took the cup from her. "Now settle down to sleep while I continue. The peaks of the mountains were covered in snow. The dragon was very cold, but her inner fire kept her warm. There, in a cave, she found her old friend, the gryphon. It was a wise old gryphon, half eagle and half lion. She told him of the wolf's predicament. Moved by the story, the gryphon unfolded his mighty wings and flew down the highest peaks, down the mountain to the forest where the dragon had left the wolf. The gryphon took pity in the poor beast. The wolf, in pain and afraid, however, lashed out whenever he gryphon drew near. It was no use. The wise gryphon realized it and left, but not without leaving a feather behind on the wolf. A long while later, the gryphon returned, with a deer he'd killed for the wolf to eat. But again, the wolf refused the gryphon's help. So the gryphon settled down to eat the deer himself, leaving half for the wolf. The gryphon flew away for the night, again leaving a feather behind on the wolf. The wolf did his best to remain adamant about his refusal of the food. But by midnight the hunger was too strong and the wolf ate what was left of the deer. This repeated itself for days after days. The wolf would refuse the gryphon's help and the gryphon would fly away again, leaving a feather. Then, the gryphon would return with a boar or a deer, leaving behind enough for the wolf to eat and another feather. The feathers were piling up around the wolf, as he kept every single one save. Eventually, there were so many feathers that the wolf had made a nest of them. He realized that he was looking forward to the gryphon's daily visits. But there was more. The wolf wished to prove his friendship, to offer a gift of thanks to the gryphon. So the wolf searched, night for night, for a silver pendant that had once belonged to the gryphons and had been lost in that very forest. On the day he finally found the pendant, he was late to return to his home. He feared the gryphon would not wait for him. However, when the wolf returned to his home, he found the gryphon in his nest, his head bowed in sorrow. That was when the wolf realized that the only gift the gryphon had ever wanted was the wolf's presence and friendship."

The child was breathing evenly by the time Fenris finished his story. He was rather proud of the story he'd come up with, even though the characters were heavily inspired by reality. He brushed another stray strand of hair back from her forehead, feeling out her temperature. She would live, if Fenris was any judge. Still, he made sure she was properly tucked in, before turning to put away the cup.

He froze almost immediately. Anders was leaning against the doorframe in the back of the clinic. He was watching Fenris and the child, a smile on his face. Fenris' blood ran cold. Just how much had he heard?

“I… ah… I heard voices,” Anders said. He was hugging himself. Fenris just hoped it was against the cold, without a coat to protect him. “So… I came looking. And… ah, I heard your story. You’re quite the story teller. Varric should watch out. I… I mean… it was nice of you, telling her a good night story.”

“How much have you heard?” Fenris growled. He didn’t mean to, but in his embarrassment, all he could do was growl.

Anders raised his hands, palms out. “From the part with the nest onward.”

Fenris gripped the cup tighter.

“Please don’t throw that,” Anders said quickly. “Or crush it. I only have four of them left and I don’t want you to cut yourself on the shards.”

Fenris put the cup down on the cot next to himself. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Go to bed.”

Instead, Anders padded over, picking the cup up and turning it in his hands. He ducked his head, avoiding Fenris’ eyes. “The story was very sweet.”

Fenris shifted, allowing the mage to sit down next to him. “I meant it.”

“Yeah, I figured.” Anders sat down beside Fenris. He leaned on him. “A wolf and a gryphon. Very on the nose. But sweet nonetheless.”

Fenris hesitated for only a moment. He put an arm around Anders. “Sweet… I have never been called anything like that.”

“You are, though.” Anders yawned. “I think so, at least. Caring. Sweet. Smart, too. You picked the tea I forgot to prepare. All very much like a good person.”

“You’re babbling,” Fenris said fondly. He pulled the cot’s thin blanket over Anders. “You should sleep. I will watch your patients.”

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is so far from what I had planned. I meant to write what is now going to be the next chapter, move the plot forward but... well.

Fenris ended up staying at the clinic for two full days and three nights. He wasn’t even sure how exactly. At some point or other, he should have left. But he hadn’t. There always had been a good reason to stay. Another patient to tend to, another moment the little elven child he’d carried needed his attention and his alone. 

The clinic, Fenris was sure at the first noon, was designed to eat all time and energy of people working there. If he hadn’t known better, he’d suspected blood magic or Kirkwall’s inherent oddity. In all likelihood, though, it worked that way because it was Anders’ and the man didn’t know how or when to stop. 

Fenris was slowly realizing that he wasn’t all that capable of it either.

There were always patients. Too many of them. Early in the morning, when Anders was opening the clinic, there was a queue. Late at night, there were people begging Anders to just have a quick look at another patient before he doused the lantern. And any time between, there was a constant stream of fresh patients, leaving barely the time to catch one’s breath, let alone have lunch.

Fenris missed lunch on the first day, being too busy as well as not being used to the different light underground. He snuck out around sunset to find them both some dinner, hunger making itself known to him already. He could take it, but there was no reason to, not when he had coin and lived in a big city.

He brought back apples, buns and rolls. Anything small enough to shove into Anders’ hand while he was distracted. The strategy worked quite well, especially since Fenris had brought enough to share, to a degree. Anders ate. That alone was worth it in Fenris’ book.

Eventually, late at night, when most patients were asleep and all helpers had long since gone home Fenris gave up on trying to get Anders to douse the lantern and did it himself. He returned back inside without even considering leaving. However, he did latch the doors after him.

Anders was still tending to the last patient, a man who’d clearly gotten himself drunk first and hurt very much second. It was more a matter of getting the guy to sit down and stay down than to heal him. If it were up to Fenris, he’d have knocked the man out moments after he’d come in.

Since it wasn’t and because it was late and Fenris was starting to feel cranky, he snuck up behind Anders. Behind the healer’s back, he put on his most annoyed murderous glare. The drunk took a couple of moments until the thought that he was risking his life by making Fenris angry seeped into his mind. But when it did, the man sat down and meekly allowed Anders to stop the bleeding from a cut in his hand. He then lay down, clenching his eyes shut in a comical attempt at feigned sleep.

Anders didn’t move for a moment. When he finally stood, he groaned, subtly trying to work out a kink in his shoulders. He turned to Fenris, a shy smile on the corners of his mouth. “I thought you left.”

“I thought you’d be asleep by now,” Fenris sighed. The dark shadows under Anders’ eyes were more pronounced as usual.

“...guess we’re both wrong, then.” Anders shrugged, halting in the middle of the motion, cringing in pain. “I could do with a break, though. Close my eyes for a bit. Get that knot out of my shoulders? Neck? I’m not even sure where it is anymore.”

“Or sleep until morning, at least.” Fenris wondered if he should offer help with Anders’ pain. It couldn’t be all that hard, could it? He knew how to handle tightly wound muscle on himself. He could apply that knowledge to others if needed.

Anders’ hands hovered for a bit, unsure where to put them or possibly even what to do with them. Fenris took them in his own to put an end to the fidgeting. Anders flinched back only for the briefest second, relaxing into the grip with a sigh. “Are you… worried?” he asked, forcing himself visibly to ask. “Not about me, about… well, anything I tend to assume you must be worrying about because of… you know, what I am… but for me… my health?” His cheeks were flushed but the rest of him was so pale. He was blinking back tears. “This is so… it’s still a little strange for me,” he claimed, trying to be subtle about drying his eyes.

“No. Resigned to your evident stupidity.” Fenris ignored the last sentence. He sighed. “People need you, yes. But people need you alive. So I suggest you sleep.” He squinted, considering his choice of words. “Now. Not later. Now.”

“You could keep me in bed,” Anders suggested, his mouth obviously working without the input of his mind. Or he did it on purpose, trying to shift attention away from feelings with shameless flirting. 

“I could,” Fenris admitted and wasn’t that a tempting thought, no matter the actual implementation. “I am confident I could. But I have seen your bed. I prefer a chair.”

“H-hey! I’ve slept in yours! You. You can’t just refuse to sleep in mine!”

Fenris pinched the bridge of his nose. Small steps, simple words, he reminded himself. “It is not about that. That bed looks barely stable enough for you alone. I do not think it could withstand additional weight.”

Anders opened and closed his mouth a couple of times like a fish until he finally found a response. “Why do you always have to be so sensible.” He even threw up his hands.

Fenris smirked. “If you promise to go sleep after…” He got on his tiptoes so he could whisper into Anders’ ear. “I shall attempt to massage that knot from your shoulders.”

The groan Anders responded with tingled down Fenris’ spine. He took it as all the agreement he’d get. Without a thought for the looks of it, he pulled Anders to the backroom by his hand. 

He itched to undress the mage once they were alone. His words should have been innuendo. He wished he could make them innuendo. However, there were more reasons to wait than to rush ahead. He couldn’t, plain and simple. So instead, he waited, while Anders took off his coat for him.

Once the coat was off, Anders looked a little lost, fumbling with the hem of his threadbare shirt. “So, ah, how’d you want me?” He tugged at the shirt, down, not up. “Do I need to take this off?”

Fenris suddenly realized that he’d never seen Anders without a shirt. They’d spent so much time following Hawke around in close quarters, but Anders was always wearing clothes. Unlike Hawke and Varric both, he did not sleep in nothing but his smalls. Unlike Isabela, he didn’t take off clothes when he was complaining about the heat. And unlike Merrill, he didn’t let himself be talked into taking off his shirt by Hawke and Isabela. 

“Would you be comfortable?” Fenris asked.

Anders fidgeted. “Probably not,” he admitted. “But… ah… I… I don’t think I’m ready… I’d like to keep my shirt on. If that’s… if it’s not in the way.”

“It won’t be.” Fenris gestured to the bed. “On your stomach. Make yourself comfortable.”

Anders moved to the cot, then paused and turned around again. “Wait. Waitwaitwait. Just to be clear here. You mean to massage me. With your hands. On my shoulders.”

“Yes.” Fenris flexed his hands. He wanted to say no. Anders seemed to be fine with a no. “That means your trousers can stay on.”

“Right. No sex. I remember that rule.”

Fenris hummed his confirmation. He didn’t trust his voice, didn’t trust himself to confirm with words. As Anders settled on the bed, face turned away, to the wall, Fenris dragged the chair over from the desk. The bed was too low to do it standing. All other options were not even considered. When he leaned forward on the chair, he could comfortably do as he’d promised, without any more physical contact than necessary.

Feeling out the knot in Anders’ neck proved more difficult than Fenris had anticipated. Not that it was hard to tell where it was. But the extent of it made it feel like the mage’s entire upper back was one big muscle tension. 

Fenris decided to work his way from the neck down. He dug his thumbs into the hardened muscle, worked the tensions with the heels of his hands, pushing his fingers in circles over the knots. The shirt was an annoyance at first. Fenris wished to see Anders in greater undress, more than he wanted to feel the naked skin under his fingertips. He’d wondered before what Anders would look like. It’d be nice to get some confirmation. But Anders didn’t want to. He had to respect that.

Anders was quiet while Fenris worked on his shoulders. Only occasionally, a particularly sore spot would pull a groan from him. Yet, Fenris carried on diligently, loosening knots and soothing tension. Strangely enough, he could feel himself relaxing, too. Fenris lost himself in the task at hand, allowing his mind to float. It was so similar to his life before Seheron. A nagging voice at the back of his mind kept pointing it out. But he was not doing it because he had to. He’d decided to do this, he had offered instead of being ordered.

When he finally decided he was finished, his hands felt a little numb. Anders was breathing evenly. He looked peaceful. Fenris stoked over his spine, hands always about the shirt.

“Good night,” Fenris whispered. He wasn’t even sure Anders was still awake enough to hear him.

He was about to get up when Anders turned his head. No amount of blinking could get his eyes to focus, even though he tried. “Stay,” Anders pleaded, his voice raspy.

Fenris pressed his lips together. He desperately wanted to. It would be the right thing to do, he kept telling himself. He could have this, could allow himself this.

“Please, Fenris, don’t make me beg.” Anders had turned his upper body and was feebly reaching out.

A pinch of the bridge of his nose. The stomped clay floor against his knees as he sat down. The wooden frame of the rickety cot against his shoulders as he leaned back. Fenris concentrated on his body, what he felt so he didn’t have to think about what he was doing.

Anders shifted so he could wrap his arms around Fenris’ shoulders. He made himself comfortable like this, his head pillowed on his arm, face pressed against Fenris’ neck.

Fenris fell asleep like that, feeling warm despite the clammy, drafty room.

By the next night, Fenris had taken a look at the cot to make sure it would not break down anytime soon. Anders still clung to him that night, through. 

———

The third morning Fenris woke up at the clinic, he was holding Anders in his arms, the mage using his chest as a pillow. Fenris brushed his thumb over Anders’ shoulder. He didn’t want to get up. He’d never thought he could feel so at peace.

“G’mrning,” Anders murmured. He didn’t move, didn’t even loosen his hug. “Sleep well?”

“Well enough,” Fenris replied. He patted Anders’ head. It felt like the thing to do.

“You should stay here.”

“I am not going anywhere right now,” Fenris chuckled. 

“I mean… forever. Just you, me, living like this.”

“In squalor, sleeping on a lumpy mattress, tending to the ungrateful day and night?”  Fenris carded his fingers through Anders’ loose hair. “What a bright future you’re offering.”

“You’re not saying no.”

“I am not saying yes either.”

Anders shifted a little. Made himself more comfortable. Pressed a closed-mouthed kiss to Fenris’ jaw. Sighed. “I love you.”

“You mean you love that i’m being nice to you.” Fenris didn’t stop petting Anders’ head. There were other people being nice to Anders. Nicer even than he was. Hawke was nice to Anders, too, and they hadn’t had any luck. He didn’t want to be turned down when Anders remembered that relationships never went well forever. If he were to have this… to believe that Anders’ words were more than half asleep blabbering… he wanted to keep it. “I... I am being nice because…” His fingers twitched. “I think i like you more than a friend.” He took a deep breath. “...I am uncertain how to proceed.”

Anders didn’t respond. Fenris could feel his own blood running cold, his palms becoming clammy. It was worse with each second Anders didn’t respond. Worse still because he didn’t want to push. He wanted to keep what he had, as little as it was. He didn’t want to lose it. He should have kept his mouth shut.

“You could kiss me,” Anders finally said. His voice was soft and sober. But there was no distance in it. Close as they were, Fenris could feel how fast, how hard, his heart was beating. “We could… See if we both like it,” Anders went on. “Then we could go on from there.”

Fenris licked his lips. Kissing. He wasn’t entirely sure he was ready for it. He wanted to and he didn’t want to do it with anyone else. “...would that be... are you and Justice in agreement?” Not exactly the question he meant to ask but important nonetheless.

“Yes.” Anders let out a breath of relief.

“Let me…” Fenris hands hovered for a moment before he found a place to put them down again. He shifted them both so they were laying on their side, face to face. “Is this…” Fenris could feel himself blush. He was awkward and he hated it, hated himself for it, too.

“It’s perfect,” Anders sighed. He put a hand on Fenris’ cheek. “Fine. Wonderful. Dreamy.”

The corner of Fenris’ mouth twitched. “Are you trying to impress me with vocabulary?”

“A little.” Anders smiled back at him. “Is it working? I could go on for quite some while. It’s excellent. Marvelous. Outstanding. Terrific.”

“Terrific is a good word.” Fenris swallowed. “I feel the terror this situation inspires in me already.”

“We don’t have to push it. I don’t… ah… I’m not insisting… I’m not… you don’t have to do anything. I just hoped… I thought it might be nice…” Anders bit his lip.

“I cannot remember ever kissing anyone.”

“I kissed plenty of people. My standards are very low.”

“Is this a vote of confidence?”

Anders winked. “Can’t I try to calm your nerves? I’m trying to make it easier. And not jump you, while we’re at it. Which is hard. Uhm… difficult.”

“I can tell.” Fenris swallowed. He’d dallied enough. It was only getting more difficult with each moment.

He’d seen people kiss before. Mostly at the Rose or Isabela but that still counted. Putting his hands on Anders’ cheeks was easy. Pulling him closer was easier. The last inch between them before he pressed their lips together was the hardest and easiest at the same time. 

Whatever they did next, Fenris wasn’t entirely sure. There were kisses. His stomach felt both empty and like he’d swallowed a burning pit. When Anders managed to coax open his mouth, push his tongue in, Fenris felt like his mind completely blanked.

As they finally, inevitably, much too soon stopped, Fenris was panting. He was holding himself up with his hands left and right of Anders’ head. His head was spinning. And yet he was smiling, happier than he’d ever been.

“Did you…? This was good, wasn’t it? Making out like this?” Anders was panting too. His cheeks, what Fenris could see of his chest was flushed. His untied hair was splayed out around him like a halo.

Fenris leaned down and kissed him again, a chaste peck on the lips. “I like it very much,” he confessed. “You are beautiful.”

“Ah… am I?” Anders turned his face away. He tried to hide against Fenris’ arm.

“Very much.” Fenris took the opportunity to kiss the shell of Anders’ ear. “And I will keep telling you until you believe me.”

“Horrible.”

“As if you mind.”

“I don’t. I did. But I don’t anymore.” Anders turned back to look up at Fenris again. “This is fine.”

Fenris smiled. “Just fine?”

“Yes. Fine.” Anders sighed. “More than fine. You’re…” He closed his eyes. “You didn’t tell me off. You could have left. You’re so much braver than I ever could be.”

“You can be very brave.” Fenris kissed Anders again. He could spend his days like this, if they’d ever find peace. “You are very brave. For other people, you are brave all the time. Just not for yourself.” Fenris paused. There were noises outside the small room they could probably no longer ignore. Moans of the sick still in the clinic, knocking of those seeking help… there was no peace for them, not yet. “We should get up. You have patients waiting.”

“Will you stay and help?”

“I…” Fenris paused. He’d been thinking about it. There was enough to do for him to be helpful at the clinic. And yet, he’d also considered other options. “Would I be welcome tonight if I left now?”

“Of course! You’re always welcome here. Any time.” Anders gave a shy smile. He cleared his throat. “So, you have plans right now?” he teased. “Better plans than mopping up blood and sick?”

“Yes.” Fenris blushed a little. “I meant to visit the witch. The elven mother and daughter we brought in… they do not have a proper place to stay. I wanted to find out if they could, maybe, find a place in the Alienage. Your helper suggested it when I asked her yesterday.”

Anders blinked up at him. “That’s a good idea. I think that’s a very good idea. Merrill is keeping the place save from slavers and there’s a community there to help them get back on their feet.”

“Exactly.” Fenris sat up. He was a little lost, tugging his clothes back in place, smoothing his hair.

Anders sat up next to him. “I’ll leave you to getting dressed then.” He kissed his cheek. “See you tonight.”

 


	7. Chapter 7

Fenris had to shield his eyes when he stepped out of the elevator and onto the Lowtown street. Two entire days spent underground and he wasn’t used to bright sunshine anymore. He glared at people who dared looking at him. At least there weren’t many of those.

He walked over to the Alienage at a meandering pace. Despite the look on his face, he was in a good mood. Good enough he knew he could be civil to a nice, bumbly, blood mage even. Merrill wasn’t too bad, she just irked him enough that he was meaner than he probably needed to be. She did good, too. If he could hold onto that thought, or at least to that fuzzy feeling in his chest, he was convinced he could get through talking to her without yelling. He had to.

The alleys got more and more devoid of people the closer he got to the Alienage. It had been the reason why he’d initially meant to set a trap for Danarius there. But the longer he’d stayed in Kirkwall, the more he’d seen and heard, the less he liked the plan. It had ended up with him meeting Hawke. But it had also needlessly endangered people who’d it rough enough just living. So he came by occasionally. Scared off the loitering slavers.

Walking down the steps into the Alienage felt always odd to Fenris. He did not much like the place. It reminded him too much of what he’d seen of slave quarters. And yet the people here were free to live their lives such as they were. They toiled while most humans in the city thought themselves better just because they’d not been born elven. It set Fenris’ nerves on edge while he was in the Alienage and could not close his eyes to it. It was better anywhere else where he could pretend that not every city in the South meant to coral all its elven residents in a desolate neighborhood. 

He kept his eyes cast down as he hurried across the central square. Merrill’s door was usually unlocked, but he still knocked. Startling her and intruding in her home was probably a bad start when he came to ask for help. Besides, he wasn’t sure he could stomach walking in on her conducting a blood magic ritual.

People were staring at him while he waited at Merrill’s door. He could feel their gazes, could feel the short hairs on the back of his head rise. To his relief, he didn’t have to knock twice. The door opened, first a crack, revealing a worried looking green eye. Merrill’s eye widened in recognition before she opened the door a bit further.

“Fenris? What are you…? I’d thought you’d never come to visit me. I mean, obviously, you’re here, visiting me.” She was already blabbering. Fenris had to fight the urge to roll his eyes. “What can I do for you today? Or did you come by to say hello? Is this a social call? Oh dear, I don’t even have tea or cookies on hand.”

“Merrill,” Fenris interrupted the flood of words. “I..” He swallowed. “I need your help.”

Merrill yelped. Fenris had to cover his ear to block the worst of the noise out. “Are you alright?” She started flittering around him, fussing over him. “It’s just, you’re the last person I’d thought would come to me for help. Well, not literally the last. There are probably a lot of people who haven’t heard of me so they wouldn’t come. And some of our friends, well, Hawke’s friends, some don’t like me just as much as you do and…”

“Merrill,” Fenris sighed. “Would you mind inviting me inside? Please? I do not wish to discuss this matter out in the open like this.”

“Oh, sure, where are my manners, of course you’re welcome inside. Please excuse the mess, I didn’t expect any guest…” Merrill led him inside, down a short corridor to a dusty room furnished with two chairs and a table. Fenris looked, out of habit, for any telltale bloodstains, but to his relief didn’t spot any.

“It’s cleaner than I am used to,” Fenris said. “You don’t have to worry about it.”

“Oh, really?” Merrill fiddled with her sleeve. “Would you like to sit down?”

“It might be better, yes.” Fenris pulled out a chair. Merrill sat down opposite to him. “I wanted to ask you something…” He took a deep breath. “You know the Alienage better than anyone I know. And the city elves trust you. I need a favor. Do you…” He had to pause. Asking for help like this, especially on behalf of other people, it was still new and strange. “Do you know of any flats, or even just a room, anywhere one could stay in the Alienage?”

Merrill’s eyes widened. It was almost comical, her eyes and mouth becoming close to perfect round shapes. “You’re not… you’re not asking for yourself, are you? Only, you always look like it physically pains you to be in the Alienage. And you already have that big mansion. There’s not much of space here. It’s always needed…”

“I am not asking for myself,” Fenris quickly assured her. “Although I do intend to pay for the space. It is…” He set his jaw. It should not be this hard to do what he knew to be right. It was mostly hard because it would not in any way benefit him. He realized that. And that went against everything he’d learned and could remember. He should relish in that, but it made him mostly feel like a fool out of his depth. “The last time I went with Hawke to one of their chores, we… I picked up an elven woman and her sick child. They don’t have anywhere to go. I am trying to help.”

“Oh Fenris.” Merrill was pressing both her hands to her mouth. “That’s a good idea. That’s really nice. I didn’t think you’d be so nice. But then again we’ve never really talked, have we? I’m sure I can find someone to take them in. But I’m not sure there’s something long-term… Where are they staying right now?”

Fenris pointed down. “Clinic. The child is still feverish.”

“So they need something soon,” Merrill mused. Her eyebrows knit together and she pressed a loose fist to her mouth. “I will ask around. Anders won’t kick them out when they have nowhere to go, will he? I mean, he wouldn’t do that, would he?”

“I do not think so,” Fenris said diplomatically.

“You could also ask Varric, maybe.”

“Varric?” Now, Fenris was actually surprised.

“Yes. He told me a few days ago he’d heard about a house in the Alienage being on sale.” Merrill beamed. “That might be a good solution. You’d be their landlord.” Her beam dimmed a little. “If you have the money for it… Varric’s guess at the price was too much for me to afford.”

Fenris made a non-commital noise. He hadn’t planned on ever buying property. Not really, at least. The mansion didn’t count. He already owned it, in a way. Just not in any legal way. “I would have to think about it. But thank you. You have been of great help and I am thankful for your support on this matter.”

Merrill beamed at him. “I have, haven’t I? Does that mean you’ll stop calling me a witch now? Because that hurts, you know? I know…” She waved her hands to indicate something. “Hawke told me about… you. But, still.”

“Would you mind me calling you Merrill?”

“Not at all. It’s my name.” Merrill laughed.

Fenris nodded his head. “Thank you again. I will let you know when I have talked to Varric.” He pressed his lips together. What would they do if they were friends? What should he do for a friend in this situation? “If there’s anything I can help you with. Anything that’s not blood magic. Let me know.”

“I will,” Merrill promised. She followed Fenris when he stood and accompanied him to the door. “Take care.”

“Take…” Fenris paused. He nodded. “You too. Take care of yourself.”

Merrill was still standing at the door when he was halfway across the square and glanced back. She was even waving after him with her dopey smile. Seeing it now wasn’t as irritating as it had been months ago. Fenris even raised his hand to wave back at her. 

Friendship was still much uncharted territory. Still work in progress. But he was coming to the realization that he might stand a chance not to get lost. With the right people, the friends he already had. Even if he disagreed with their decisions. Even if he had to push his emotions and bad memories aside sometimes and think things through so he wouldn’t inflict his hurt on his friends. Not anymore.

Head full of thoughts and new resolutions, he made his way to the Hanged Man to find Varric. Later, when he would buy food, he would also keep his eyes open for a present for Merrill. It wouldn’t make up for what he’d said to her in the past, but for her help and openness, being able to bring her some small joy would be a start.

The Hanged Man was relatively empty. It was barely midday and merely the hard core of its patrons, the stragglers and layabouts, were there. Fenris nodded at the girl behind the bar as he walked straight to the stairs and thus Varric’s rooms. 

Fenris stopped at the door. He could hear voices from the inside, Varric and somebody he didn’t know. Uncertain, he raised a hand to knock, but then quickly decided to wait. He leaned at the wall by the door as the discussion got more and more heated. Only when Varric raised his voice did he push off the wall. He gave the door a sharp rap.

The unknown voice inside fell silent. 

After a long moment’s pause, Varric called, “Come in.”

Fenris pushed the door open. Immediately, he glared at the dwarf that had been arguing with Varric. He could see the dwarf shrink back a little.

“Ah, Fenris, my friend, right on time for our meeting,” Varric greeted him. “You have to excuse this mess, me and my dear friend from the merchants’ guild ran a little long. He was just about to leave.”

Fenris shifted his weight subtly to draw the dwarf’s attention to the broad sword he was carrying. Just in case the merchant would relocate his spine and misplace his sense in the process. 

The merchant didn’t. Begrudgingly, he packed up his papers, failing to pack some Varric quickly pocketed. He shot a bitter glare at Varric before he left, but did not say a single word.

Varric collapsed in his favorite chair. “Right on time, Broody,” he sighed. “One more minute and I’d have had to come up with a plan to get rid of him myself.”

“Always glad to be of service.” Fenris inclined his head to hint at a bow. He liked the dwarf, liked the easy banter with him. He suspected that was by Varric’s design, but so far nothing bad had come from it.

“So, I assume this is not a social call, is it?” Varric looked him up and down. “You don’t do social calls. What can I help you with?”

Fenris shifted from one foot to the other. “I… I am looking into the purchase of a property and who better to ask for help than the conqueror of the merchants’ guild.”

“Property?” Varric’s mouth hung open. “Maker… is this the day you ask me to look into the deed for your mansion?”

Fenris paused for moment. “Depends,” he finally allowed. “But there’s something else more pressing. After that, we might talk about the mansion.”

“... go on.”

“No witty conclusions?” Fenris was relieved. He wasn’t ready to have to dodge questions again. “I heard that one of the houses in the Alienage is for sale. That is the property I want to talk to you about.”

“In the Alienage?” Surprised as he was, Varric seemed to have trouble following. Or switching mental tracks, as he went on with: “I’m not sure Blondie would appreciate having to move there.”

“It’s not for me.” Fenris frowned. “This is not about the mage. He already has a home.”

“Yes yes sure.” Varric waved a hand dismissively. “But consider: Blondie wouldn’t say no to a place with no drafts and a warm fireplace.”

To hide his resigned sigh, Fenris pulled out a chair and sat down. “If I allow you to ask three questions and promise to answer them truthfully after we are done, will you stop and listen to me first?”

“Any three questions?”

“No. Only about the mage and myself.”

Varric rubbed his hands. “Oh, alright, let’s have it your way, Broody. So, say I know who’s selling that house you’re interested in and at what price, what would you use it to?”

“House elves,” Fenris deadpanned. “Especially those recently escaped from slavers. And with sick children.”

“Look at you.” Varric whistled. “It’s about that kid you carried to the clinic, isn’t it?”

Fenris lowered his head. “Yes. I… Getting to know her and her mother made me want to keep knowing them. I can help them. I want to help them.”

“The house is a bit big for two…” Varric mused. He was scratching his chin. “It might be an idea to… would you be willing to have some works done on the inside? Put a couple of walls in, replace ladders with proper stairs, that kind of thing?”

“To make room for more than one family, you mean?”

“Exactly.”

Fenris thought about it. “It might be a good idea. Living space in the Alienage is sparse, it would help alleviate that problem.”

“It’d cost a bit of money, though.”

“That will not be a problem. I have savings. I would like using what I found of Danarius’ money, too.”

Varric laughed. “That’d be a nice one. Okay, Broody, I’ll see what I can do. Hopefully nobody else is interested in that house. You might have to vie with smugglers and other shady groups. They always like a good stashing place where the Watch doesn’t look too closely.”

“Then it is good to have you on my side. I am confident you will manage to broker the deal.” Fenris pinched his nose. “So, what’s your first question?”

Varric scratched his chest. He was clearly considering what to ask, looking Fenris up and down. Finally, he leaned forward, a broad smile on his face. “My sources told me you stayed the night. So, it’s pointless to ask if there’s something. It’s more of a question of what but knowing the two of you neither of you has an answer to that yet. Therefore, I must ask the obvious…” He reclined again and steepled his fingers in front of his mouth. “Why, Fenris? Why him, of all people?”

Fenris shrugged. He’d asked himself the same question time and time again. It wasn’t something he could put into words yet. All he knew was that it had to be him, that he didn’t want anyone but his mage. “I l-“ He pinched the bridge of his nose. He couldn’t say it here when he’d never said it out loud before. “How did Anders put it? I like-like him.”

Varric did his best, but he could not entirely hide the proud smile. “That is all? Because you like-like him for no reason at all?”

“I… appreciated his kindness, at first. We are… not so different as I once thought. I trust him, despite what he is. Because of who he his.” Fenris could feel his face heat up, from his cheeks to the tip of his ears. He began to study the nicks and marks on the table just so he didn’t have to watch Varric’s expression. “I like being around him. He does not need me, I am free to leave any time. We are our own people. He could never…” Fenris swallowed. “I am sure he could never rob anyone of their freedom. He’s witty and smart and impossible to talk to sometimes.” He shrugged again.

“Oh, damn, Broody.” The worst part of it was how sympathetic Varric sounded. “I didn’t know it was that bad. Does he know?”

Fenris shook his head. “Not in so many words. He would not believe me anyway.” His breath stuttered when he breathed in. “Don’t tell him. Or anyone else. This is strictly between you and me.”

“Shit, yeah, whatever you need.”

Fenris looked up. Sighed. “Next question. Let us get this over with.” 

“Do you have any plans?”

“Aside from keeping him alive long enough that I can figure something out?” Fenris shot Varric a lopsided smile. “No. Not really. It’d… it’d be nice to… spend more time. The last two days were nice. I might… I plan to help out at his clinic. The volunteers there might appreciate it, too. I am content just to be around and help.”

Varric nodded. “You’re so unbelievably saccharine. I’d call it bad if I read what you’d just said in a book. But…” He shrugged helplessly. “I might have checked in on you two yesterday. Not that I’m spying. I was worried I’d misinterpreted things and you’d be fighting after all. I haven’t seen Blondie that happy since we met. Well, he was tired and exhausted, but I’ve known him long enough to know what to look for. I can tell. So you did something good.”

“Is that you giving me your blessings?” Fenris would never admit it to anyone but not getting Varric’s blessings would make him at least reconsider. Varric was good at caring for his friends.

“Pretty much.” Varric glanced over to Bianca. “This is the part where I should threaten you about not treating him wrong. But I think we’re good there. Speaking of blessings, you heard Hawke the other day. What about Justice?”

“What about Justice?”

“Oh, come on, you railed so much against Justice and possessed mages in general. And yet… don’t tell me Justice, the spirit of Justice, forgives you for what you kept saying about him, a stranger. It can’t be that simple, can it?”

Fenris swallowed. He’d thought about that, too. Alone at night when he was unable to sleep. He wasn’t afraid of Justice turning Anders into an abomination that’d kill them all. Not anymore. He was afraid of being judged, still. But worst of all, he now knew that for Anders, Justice’s verdicts meant everything. He was the friend he trusted the most. “Justice does not mind, provided that I care for them both and treat them right,” he told Varric what he kept telling himself on those dark nights. “Sometimes, though, it’s hard not being jealous.”

That made Varric laugh, at least. “I can only imagine. Even if neither will admit it, I’m pretty sure they adored each other before they merged. One can only wonder what came of that since.” Varric stood. “Well, now that you’ve answered my questions three, let me get you something to drink. Something strong. You look like you need it.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of a shorter one

Fenris wasn’t sure why the afternoon was passing into evening already. Varric had paid for wine and entertained with stories. There had been food, at some point, between two stories that had made Fenris laugh. He’d forgotten about worry and pain for a while. It hadn’t been the wine, but that had helped. It had been Varric’s company. They had gotten talking eventually, when Varric had started to think aloud about his latest novel. Talking, the dwarf claimed, always helped, be it in love or romance.

Just when Fenris was about to suggest dinner and more wine, familiar steps came up the stairs outside. Fenris sat up a little straighter, turning to the door. He decided not to see the grin on Varric’s face.

“Hawke, I’d plans today,” Anders whined as Hawke opened the door and pushed him inside. “Plans that did emphatically not include you or Va…” His gaze landed on Fenris and he snapped his mouth shut for a brief moment. “-rric,” he finished lamely. “Uh, hi, Fenris?”

“Hello, mage,” Fenris rumbled. He didn’t dare speak much more. In vino veritas and all that. His fingers twitched only briefly before he had himself back under control again. This was neither the time nor the audience to give into his desire to jump up and kiss his mage senseless in greeting.

“Fenris!” Hawke sounded so excited at seeing him it was almost embarrassing. Fenris flinched when he was hugged enthusiastically. He still allowed Hawke to pull him to his feet. He was even thankful for the hand on each of his shoulders stabilizing him. “I’m so glad you and Anders haven’t killed each other yet. Where have you been hiding the last two days?”

“Mage, remind me never to tell Hawke about our suicide pact.” Fenris was leaning around Hawke to look at Anders, relying on Hawke to keep him balanced.

Hawke turned their head around as intended, forgetting about their question. “What suicide pact?”

“Maker…” Anders groaned, pinching his nose. “There’s no suicide pact. Fe- the jerk is just telling you that indeed we haven’t killed each other yet. In his own way. Also, he’s clearly drunk, Hawke.” Anders let himself drop onto a chair, on the other side of the table from Fenris and Hawke and next to Varric. “I already feel like I’m too sober for this nonsense.”

“I thought you didn’t drink, Blondie,” Varric observed.

“I don’t,” Anders shot back. Fenris had noticed him staring and was now staring back, still held upright by Hawke. “Justice doesn’t allow it. He doesn’t like being drunk. So I don’t get to be either.”

Hawke gently pushed Fenris back down to his chair. “You can’t just let Justice decide everything, it’s your life!” they protested.

“Hawke.” Anders pinched the bridge of his nose. “No. Just no. I’m not going to discuss that with you anymore. It’s alright. I’m fine. It’s more complicated than… I can make my own choices. I don’t need you to make them for me.”

Hawke’s mouth dropped open. And stayed open long enough that Fenris tried to push it closed again.

“Sorry,” Anders sighed. “Sorry, sorry. I’m just… tired. Hungry. Stressed.”

“You should eat then,” Fenris suggested. “We should eat.” He checked his mug for wine. “Too much wine, too little food.”

“Wise words,” Varric agreed. “I could do with some dinner as well. C’mon, Blondie, let’s get us some stew downstairs.”

Fenris watched them leave. The only reason he didn’t follow was that his body wouldn’t cooperate quickly enough. Instead, he asked Hawke: “What’s with him?”

“We fought,” Hawke admitted. They’d claimed the chair next to Fenris, sitting so they could rest their arms on the backrest and their head on top. “Before we came here. I’m surprised he even let me drag him out.”

“You fought?” Through the alcohol muddling his mind, it was hard to concentrate on what Hawke wasn’t saying. Something nagged Fenris, but he couldn’t put his finger on it yet.

“He was in a good mood when I came into the clinic. He wasn’t anymore when we left. Between that there were words. That’s a fight.”

“I know what a fight is,” Fenris huffed. The nagging feeling was getting worse and making him feel irritated. He wasn’t certain what it was yet but… “...what did you say about Justice?”

“Justice?” Hawke echoed. “Since when are you calling that… since when are you calling Justice Justice?”

“Since we talked.” Fenris yawned. “He’s nice. Not a demon. Demons don’t keep their hosts alive and sane. Sane-ish.”

Hawke snorted.

“What?” Fenris tilted his head as far as he could without getting nauseous.

“You really think he’s keeping Anders alive? Are you… are you alright, Fenris?” Hawke’s hand hovered uselessly over Fenris head like they meant to pat him but weren’t sure they should.

“No,” Fenris sighed. “I’m drunk.”

“That’s not what I meant.” Now, Hawke was patting Fenris’ head. It felt good enough that Fenris allowed the touch. “You. Of all people. I thought you disliked Justice.”

“Being distrustful is hard work,” Fenris rumbled. “And I’m exhausted.” To prove his point he put his head down on the table. It was nice and cold. He wondered if Varric would be very mad if he slept here. He only perked up again when he heard Anders’ steps on the stairs. Hawke looked at him as if they’d been talking the entire time but Fenris hadn’t listened.

“What?” they asked and turned to the door. 

It was opened moments later by Varric, carrying a bowl of stew and Anders, carrying two.

“Oh, I see,” Hawke smiled.

“What,” Anders sighed. He put one bowl down near Fenris and the other at his place at the table. Fenris didn’t miss the way his mage’s hand brushed his arm. That hadn’t been an accident. “What do you see, Hawke?”

“Fenris said he’s too exhausted to be distrustful,” Hawke replied. “But he’s not too exhausted to be attentive around you. So, Fenris, I’m calling bullshit.”

“Right. Because there’s no other explanation for it.” Anders pointed accusingly at the bowl of stew. “Like food.”

“Mage.” Fenris tugged Anders’ sleeve for a moment to get his attention. He didn’t like that Hawke got so much of what should rightly be his. “I do not feel too well.”

“See. Or he needs my help. Like every other drunk in this blighted city.” Despite his harsh words, Anders’ touch on Fenris was gentle. A wave of healing magic washed through him, taking away the nausea. Fenris leaned into the touch and sighed happily.

“Since when do you heal him?” Fenris didn’t care much for Hawke’s accusing tone. He was still blissfully drunk even though his stomach had calmed again. And he could subtly make skin contact with his mage. It calmed him, too.

“Since he asked,” Anders snapped back. “Why? Am I not allowed to do so without your sayso?”

“Children, please,” Varric interjected before Hawke could respond. “Let’s all sit down and eat. We’ll feel a lot better with full bellies.”

Anders turned to glare at Varric, then quickly deflated. “Right, you’re probably right.” To Fenris great displeasure, he stalked over to the seat he’d taken before and sat down. “Why did you get our favorite grumpy elf drunk again anyway?” he asked after a few spoonfuls of stew.

“Oh, you know, wine loosens tongues. I thought it might loosen his too.”

“I’m not telling you any more about my boyfriend,” Fenris interrupted. The stew was nice. Hot and with chunks in. Fenris liked the chunks.

“Oh.” Anders almost dropped his spoon. “He… ah, boyfriend? Did he say that? He has a boyfriend?”

“Wait, seriously?” Hawke turned to Fenris. “You have a boyfriend?”

“I’m not saying anymore about my boyfriend,” Fenris repeated. “‘s between him an’ him ‘n me.”

“It was meant to be a joke the other day.” Hawke was still trying to grasp the news. “So I did wake you? Or was I interrupting anything? I’m sorry, Fenris.”

“You did,” Fenris rumbled. He wasn’t angry with Hawke for that anymore. This morning had made up for it. “‘s ok now.”

A gleeful smile spread across Hawke’s face. “I’m so glad to hear that. Are you gonna tell us his name? Or anything at all? What’s he like? Do I get to give a shovel talk?”

“He’s…” Fenris scrunched up his nose. Squinted. He’d rather eat his stew. It was getting cold. But looking at Anders across the table, he knew he only had one answer. “He’s beautiful.”

Anders blushed, Fenris could tell, even though his mage quickly looked down.

“Beautiful,” Hawke cooed. “Aw, that’s so cute. But what’s he like as a person?”

“He is kind,” Fenris sighed. “Intelligent, too, though not very smart. A good person.”

“Never thought you’d be one to go for that type, Fenris,” Hawke noted. “That’s, like, the complete opposite of you.”

Anders harumphed softly. Varric quickly interjected. “Well, what did you think his boyfriend would be like, Hawke?”

“Well.” Hawke scratched their head. “Tall. Classically handsome. The dark and silent type. Possibly someone Fenris can connect with over, like, swords practice. A calm presence?”

“Who’d want silent? Silent’s making me worried. I don’t like silent,” Fenris muttered, mostly to himself. “And he’s tall.”

“Oh, tall?” Hawke leaned closer. “Now we’re getting somewhere.”

“I’m not telling you his name,” Fenris rumbled. His stew was gone. Hawke was getting nosier than he’d like. “I’m not telling you anything anymore.”

“Nonono, you have to,” Hawke whined. “Please. When I” They pressed a hand to their chest. “Have to suffer unrequited love, you have to share some of your happiness.”

“Hawke,” Fenris and Anders growled almost in unison.

“What?” Hawke shrugged.

Before Fenris could say anything, Anders said, “You do not. Don’t you dare. You’re not using me against anyone.” He’d gotten up, a hand slapped down on the table. He was glaring daggers at Hawke. Only when his gaze turned to Fenris, it softened a little. “Do you need someone to take you home?”

Fenris made a low whining noise in the back of his throat. He wanted to go home. He wanted Anders to take him home. But he wasn’t sure if he could get up and make it home. He didn’t want to have to listen to Hawke and Anders fight. But he’d need assistance and he didn’t want Hawke to see that. So, he said, “I believe it would be best if I stayed some more. I… don’t trust my legs to carry me yet.”

Anders’ shoulders fell. It was subtle, just enough for Fenris to pick it up.

“As soon as I can walk again, you can take me home, mage.” Fenris added a smile, even. “Until then, you’ll have to suffer Hawke some more.”

“See?” Hawke beamed. “He doesn’t want to leave.”

“No,” Anders sighed. He sank down on his chair again. “He’s just sober enough to remain sensible.”

“You don’t like sensible,” Fenris observed.

Anders shot him a wry smile. “I don’t like sensible when it gets in the way of my insensible.” He rubbed his temples. “Hawke, I… can’t we just acknowledge that you don’t like Justice and I don’t like being patronized by you and stop fighting? I like being friends with you.”

“I did go a little too far, didn’t I?” Hawke scratched the back of their head. “I’m sorry. I like being friends, too.”

“Well, didn’t you make up nicely just now,” Varric cooed. “How about we stop the heavy talks for now and play some cards? Now that we’re all friends again.” He was already shuffling a deck. “No stakes tonight.”

—————

It was close to midnight when Fenris stepped onto the street outside the Hanged Man. He felt mostly sober again. Not just because of the cold night air, but also because he'd stuck to cider for the night, sharing pitchers with Anders, even though he made sure his mage never paid for them. Anders had left with him under the guise that Fenris leaving was a good reason as any to call it a night. Varric had looked rather pleased about it.

It took Fenris almost until they’d have to part ways if they were to go home alone to muster the courage to take Anders hand. He didn’t miss the smile Anders’ shot him in the dark. Fenris had to get on his tiptoes to whisper in his ear, “Come home with me.”

Anders squeezed his hand in response. He didn’t say anything but never let go of Fenris’ hand. Not when they climbed the stairs to Hightown, not in any of the broad dark streets. He held onto Fenris’ hand until they reached the mansion.

Fenris had expected to pull Anders up to his bedroom or at least meant to invite him to sit down somewhere comfortable. He hadn’t at all expected that Anders would pull him in a tight hug the moment the door was closed behind them.

Helpless, Fenris stroked his mage’s back. He didn’t know what else to do, had nothing to say that would make whatever had brought this on better.

“Are you…” Fenris bit his lip. Of course Anders wasn’t alright. This was not alright behaviour. So, he switched his question to, “What’s wrong?”

Anders’ grip tightened for a moment. His voice was muffled. “Don’t you mind Justice?” Not an actual answer, but close enough for Fenris.

He knew his body was giving him away. His heart skipped a beat. His hands twitched. A part of him wanted to run. A part of him hated that he even considered his honest answer. It betrayed everything he’d vowed to himself when he’d started to run.

“Justice is a close friend of yours,” Fenris said slowly. “And an important part of who you are. I…” He swallowed. “I cannot like… like-like you and dislike Justice.”

Anders took a shuddering breath. “Hawke thinks they can.”

“Then Hawke’s an idiot,” Fenris snorted.

“I don’t understand how you can be so matter of fact about it.” Anders had started shaking. “You… why?”

Fenris had no answer. Why indeed. He’d asked himself that as well. “I came to the realization that should I wish to make friends, I cannot keep judging people on what they are. I have to start seeing what they do. It still takes work. But… you do good. You both are good people. I can see that. I can see that Merrill does good, too. That also takes work. I am willing to put in this work.”

“You are a good person, Fenris.” Anders pulled back just enough to look Fenris in the eye.

“Not as good as you might think.” Fenris brushed a tear off Anders’ cheek with his thumb. “Hawke’s comments did make me jealous. I am relieved you came home with me and not them.”

One corner of Anders’ mouth twitched up. “Would you fight Hawke over me?”

“No,” Fenris said flatly. Probably not what Anders wanted to hear but it was the truth. “You can make your own choices. I do not intend to make you my property. I wish to have you close because you want to be not because you have to.”

For a lack of response to that, Anders pressed a tingling kiss to Fenris’ cheek. “I still liked that you called me your boyfriend, though. I love you.”

Fenris merely smiled at that. His heart was beating faster. He couldn’t say it back. Not yet. It would make everything more real, more scary. He couldn’t take that yet.

Instead, he took Anders’ hand and lead him upstairs to his bedroom. Anders allowed him to remove his coat, before helping Fenris out of his armor. Fenris could tell Anders was hesitating once they were both down to their trousers and shirts. He himself was too.

He cradled Anders face in his hands and kissed him. “I am glad you are here.” A brief moment of hesitation. A deep breath. Words came easier than actions. Fenris activated his markings despite the lump of irrational fear in his stomach. He kissed Anders again. “I want you here.” His markings flickered a moment before they went out. The light had been just enough to see the utter shock on Anders’ face.

“You said that the lyrium draws Justice,” Fenris murmured. “I thought…”

He couldn’t finish the sentence. Anders had surged forward, kissing him with almost desperate need.


	9. Chapter 9

Anders fit into his life so easily. It came as a surprise to Fenris at first. They would get up in the morning, having tea and roasted bread for breakfast. Fenris insisted on the breakfast. Anders insisted on the tea if he had to eat. Some days, Fenris would then accompany Anders to the clinic. On others, he would stroll through the city, usually ending up in the Alienage where he could watch the carpenters Varric had hired him.

The house in the Alienage had been more expensive than Fenris had hoped for, but not expensive enough to make much of a dent in the treasures he’d found in the mansion. It had been a reminder just how much the elves in Kirkwall generally struggled. None of them would have been able to afford it, not even if they’d pooled their resources for the good of their community. Fenris didn’t tell Merrill about the asking price when he dropped by her place with sweets and tea Anders had helped pick in a pretty box. It had led to him having to stay and try both sweets and tea while Merrill chattered about everything, from her latest adventure while getting lost to the gossip going around Lowtown and the Alienage. 

He ended up coming over for tea and gossip once a week. Occasionally, he’d also accompany her if she needed someone to stand behind her and look murderous. Strangely enough he didn’t mind.

Dinner had become the other fixture of his day. Usually, he’d pick up some fresh fruit at the Market on his way home. He was trying to learn how to cook, on days when he wasn’t working at the clinic. Until now, he’d never cared much for food. But he’d found with the right company he was interested in meals, at least. It had led to first planning more and then trying to work out if he couldn’t just make something warm himself instead of buying hot food on the street and hoping Anders would finish up at the clinic before it was all cold. If Fenris cooked himself, at least the food could be kept warm until needed.

Anders kept irregular hours. Some days, he would come to the mansion just after sunset and dead tired. On others, he would arrive closer to midnight, erratic and distracted. Very rarely, he’d sneak in at the dead of night. On those days, Fenris would pretend to be asleep when Anders came. He still couldn’t admit that he was waiting up, no matter how late Anders returned. Despite everything, Fenris had grown used to not falling asleep alone and he wouldn’t until he could hold his mage close for the night.

The main disturbance of these peaceful days came in the form of Hawke. Fenris had never noticed just how much Hawke was doing, how they were constantly putting out, metaphorical, fires or starting actual ones all over the city. He hadn’t been when it was just himself. But seeing how often they asked Anders to come on erants with them at any time of day, he started to believe he’d gotten off easy so far. 

Hawke had been surprised the first time they’d come to the clinic and found Fenris working there. Fenris hadn’t thought about an explanation for their friends as to why until that very moment. Anders had explained his presence with ease, praising Fenris for his quick wit and growing knowledge about herbs and healing. Fenris ears were burning by the time Hawke relaxed their worried stance. When Anders added that Fenris was much better with children than he himself, Fenris walked off.

Later, Fenris realized that he could take compliments just as badly as Anders.

It was a few weeks into what Hawke had started to call the “strange truce between Fenris and Anders”. Fenris hadn’t been in the clinic that day as he’d been needed for some decisions regarding the house still under reconstruction. He’s spent the afternoon listening to Merrill tell the children from the Alienage stories about the Dales and elven gods. It had been a good, normal day.

The first sign it was not a normal day in his new routine was Anders’ returning while Fenris was still preparing their dinner. He’d never come that early. Fenris could hear him coming up through the cellars, recognizing his footsteps. Instead of coming straight to find Fenris, though, he walked around the entrance hall, before leaving to the far wing. Curious, Fenris took the food off the stove so it didn’t overcook or burn while he went to look for Anders.

He found him in a dusty hallway, peeking into a room. A magelight gave off just enough of a glow to see by. Fenris leaned against the wall and watched. Anders moved onto the next room, startling when he noticed Fenris.

“Just what are you doing?” Fenris asked with a soft smile.

Anders flushed. “I… Merrill asked me a couple of days ago if I knew any elven stories from… you know, way back when.” He shrugged, ceasing his gesticulating for a moment. “I don’t. It’s not really… encouraged… for someone like me to study elves. Even elves don’t…” He took a deep breath, squaring his shoulders just enough for Fenris to notice. “Anyway, I thought, I know two people who might have a book or two about elves. Merrill already asked Hawke. And I thought… well, there has to be a library in a mansion this big and this expensive, even if it’s just a second… or third, forth, fifth, I dunno, home.”

“And so you went looking, I see. Why didn’t you ask me if I knew where it was?” Fenris tried to keep any accusation out of his tone. He was merely curious.

Anders flushed some more. “I… Don’t laugh!” He ordered, pointing a finger at Fenris. Flustered. It made Fenris’ smile widen despite himself. “I thought I could air the room, dust a little while you’re still busy making dinner. And then after, we could see if we find a book that strikes your fancy, something like that. And, if there’s one, curl up somewhere together.”

Fenris blinked. “I can’t read. Still,” he mumbled.

“I-I know!” Anders had found a loose thread on his coat and was pulling at it nervously. “I… I meant that…” Deep breath. “I meant I could read to you. If… if you’d like that. Anything you want. ...provided we find the library.”

 Fenris thought for a moment. The idea sounded wonderful. And that Anders had come home early just for that made his heart flutter in his chest. “I think… there was a room full of bookcases somewhere on this hallway.” He smiled at Anders. “Do you want me to help looking?”

“I… I’d like that.” Anders looked away. “But I also meant to surprise you with it..”

Fenris closed the distance between them. As much as he disliked anyone snooping around his space, Anders wasn’t just anyone. And the library was a place that could be theirs, together, in time. He took Anders’ hands in his and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “I’ll be in the kitchen preparing dinner, then.”

“Alright,” Anders sighed. He leaned down to kiss Fenris. “I want to spend more time with you.”

“I figured.” Fenris smiled. “I do, too.”

“I guess… I’ll see you for dinner, then?” Anders was reluctant to let go of Fenris’ hands despite his words.

Fenris kissed him again before letting go of his hands. “Don’t take too long.”

Anders arrived at the kitchen just when Fenris was setting the table. There was dust in his hair and he had left his coat somewhere, but he looked rather pleased with himself. He went straight to the sink to wash his hands.

Fenris didn’t even have to ask if Anders had found the library.

Instead, he picked a dust bunny out of Anders’ hair. “I see your hunt was successful,” he noted, holding up the dust bunny.

It was silly enough to bring a smile to Anders’ face. “Rather,” Anders replied. “But the eternal fight against dust bunnies and spider webs has left me hungry. What’s for dinner for weary conquerors of forgotten rooms?”

“Stew.” Fenris paused. “Made from my spoils of the day.”

Anders sniffed the air. “Hmmmm smells like… you defeated an uprising in the root vegetable kingdom.”

“I was the uprising,” Fenris corrected. He was filling two bowls one after another. “Your remains of the ruling class,” he added as he handed Anders his bowl.

Anders very carefully put the full bowl down n the table. He was shaking with suppressed laughter. “To think it took me years to understand your humor. I missed so much.”

Fenris flashed him a smile. “It is good to finally be appreciated for my humor.” He watched Anders hungrily eat for a while. It was still somewhat concerning how hungry Anders was every day, but knowing he got at least one full meal and some toasted bread each day silenced some of the worries Fenris had. Whenever he brought it up, Anders just brushed it off as a Warden quirk. 

“How was your day?” Anders asked between two spoonfuls.

“Uneventful,” Fenris replied. “The renovations should be finished within a week if nothing unforeseen happens.”

“That’s good to hear. It’s still a brilliant idea.”

“I…” Fenris shifted a little. “I also talked about having the roof fixed. And some smaller, needed repairs. Here. For the mansion.”

Anders blinked. “Are you sure?”

“It’s been three years, give or take.” Fenris shrugged. “This is my home now. I cannot deny that.”

Anders was speechless.

“I paid Varric a hefty sum for the deed. Who knows how he acquired it. But it is mine now.” Fenris took a deep breath. “I met Merrill today, too. She asks if you can help her with supplies for seasonal illnesses.”

“Flus, coughs and the like?” As intended that comment had gotten Anders to mentally switch gears. “Yeah, sure. If she’d like me to… I mean, we can probably help each other out?”

“She only asked for no sermons.”

“So the same rules you have to abide by? I should be able to manage.” Anders’ expression turned thoughtful. “Her help could be invaluable,” he muttered. He was already drawing figures on the table with his free hand. 

Fenris watched for a while. He refilled their bowls while Anders was elsewhere with his thoughts. It amused him just how easy it was to get Anders so distracted he wouldn’t notice much about what was going on around him. Of course that didn’t work all the time. But it always worked during dinner. That led Fenris to think that Anders felt at least safe enough in his home.

Eventually, Anders looked up. The corners of his eyes crinkled as he smiled. “Good thoughts?” he asked, reaching across the table to put his hand on Fenris’.

“Rather.” Fenris turned his palm up so he could hold Anders’ hand.

“Are you going to tell me what about?”

“Home,” Fenris sighed. At Anders’ frown, he added: “This home. Not… anything else. Never that.”

Anders squeezed his hand. “Sorry.”

“I am fine.” Fenris smiled. “Really. ...would you like to show me the library you found now?”

Anders looked at their bowls, then back up to Fenris. “You really want me to?”

“I was promised to be read to,” Fenris replied. “I intend to hold you to it.”

Reluctantly, Anders removed his hand from Fenris. He took the bowls and spoons, clearing the table. Fenris watched him give the dinner ware a quick wash. He was still not used to Anders doing his share around the house. It always was a pleasant surprise.

“Should we take the kettle to the library?” Fenris asked, following a sudden inspiration.

“For tea?” Anders had moved on to drying the spoons with a cloth. He’d already put the bowls back in their cupboard. “That’d be nice.”

Fenris got up to take two wooden boxes from a cupboard. He slid them across the table to Anders. “Which one?”

Anders frowned but still opened the first of the boxes. He sniffed the contents, then repeated the process with the other box. “New tea blends?”

“I was at the market anyway.” Fenris shrugged. He’d rather drop dead than tell anyone that he’d spend the better part of an hour trying to decide which tea Anders would probably like best. He’d ended up with five blends. A little embarrassed when he’d gotten home, he’d set one aside to gift Merrill. The rest had been hidden in the back of a rarely used cupboard.

“Hmmm, do you want me to stay up long tonight?” Anders was thoughtfully looking at one of the boxes. “I haven’t had black tea in forever. I mean, I love herbal fusions, I do, or I wouldn’t be drinking all your tea up all the time. But actual black tea… it’d be something. But I don’t think I could sleep for a while if I…”

“Mage…” Fenris sighed in fond exasperation. “Just pick the one you like. I do not mind you not sleeping. You stay up too late with or without tea to aid you.”

“Fine.” Anders harrumphed. “But remember, I warned you.”

“Yes. You did. You do. Repeatedly.” Fenris shrugged. He took the kettle and filled it at the pump. “Excessively, too. Maybe one day, I’ll believe one of those warnings out of sheer exhaustion.”

“Right.”

“Did you have a look at the books in the library?” Fenris asked as they walked down the hall. He could see Anders’ footsteps in the dust. Just another sign that he might want to make this place his actual home. It would mean having to clean and dust.

“Hm, not really. I made sure the couch there was usable and no birds were nesting in the chimney. I might also have opened the window to get fresh air in. It opens to the garden. Did you know the mansion had a garden?”

“I knew it had weeds and a tree in the back, yes.”

“Weeds! Please let me have a look around there, during the day, please? I’m pretty sure there are more than weeds in the garden.”

“You will not turn my weeds into an apothecary.” They’d stopped by the last door with footsteps leading up to it. Fenris could feel a draft from the inside. It was probably just the window Anders had opened. But he couldn’t help feeling nervous. He opened the door, blocking Anders from the room until he was sure the room was empty. He lowered the kettle.

“I shouldn’t have left the window open, should I?” Anders was trying to be chipper but Fenris could tell he was a little shaken.

“It is fine.” Fenris sneezed. The air in the library was stale and full of dust. It desperately needed the fresh air coming in from the outside. It was, however, somewhat cold as well.

As if he’d read his mind, Anders crouched down by the fireplace. He’d already built a fire there, so he only had to light the kindling. “I’m using magic,” he still announced, before getting the fire to burn with a flick of his wrist. Fenris appreciated the gesture, but it was unnecessary. He’d become used to Anders’ magic. Still, it was not a habit he’d discourage. Another quick wave of Anders’ hand and the lamps in the library came alight as well.

Fenris put the kettle near the fire. He’d have to look into installing a hook for the kettle if they were going to do this more often.

“What are you in the mood for?” Anders asked. He was looking over a bookcase. “Looks like this library has a bit of everything. ...urgh.” He pulled out a book, paged through it and then looked at the fire. “Okay, everything might include stuff I’m not keen on.” He dropped the book on the floor. “I’ll do some weeding here. Promise. Before you learn how to read.”

“It used to be Danarius’ library. I expect to find some parts of the collection upsetting.” Fenris looked at the book Anders had just dropped. He recognized one of the symbols on the cover. “You have permission to burn the books on slave keeping, though.”

“Thank you,” Anders said curtly. “I will.”

“Not now.” Fenris sat down on the couch. A bit of dust came from the cushions, enough to make him sneeze again. “Tonight, I think I want something simple. Fairy tales from the south. Or… what is it Varric writes? Not the crime stories. The other ones.”

“Romance,” Anders smiled. “That should be doable. The fairy tales… I don’t think we can find a book on that here. Yet.”

“Yet,” Fenris agreed. If he learned to read, he would have to find books on southern folklore. He still knew far less about Ferelden and Orlais than he’d like. While Anders was searching the bookcases for romance novels, he fixed them a cup of tea each. It smelled different from their usual, but not unpleasant. He’d picked that one because the woman at the stall had said it was popular in trading ports and among those that needed some invigoration in the morning. Fenris had been curious enough to pay what she’d asked.

Anders returned from the depths of the shelves, holding a book high. “Found one,” he beamed. “It’s pretty standard. Girl meets sailor, girl falls in love, sailor leaves, girl tries to follow.”

“Sounds just as well,” Fenris commented between sips of tea. He liked this tea, he’d decided.

Anders sat down beside him on the couch. After a bit of shuffling, Fenris found himself with an arm loosely around Anders after the mage had settled with his back against his side. “Is this comfortable?” he asked when he noticed that the couch was much too short for Anders to be lying down on.

“Rather,” Anders responded and started to read.

Getting read to was nice. Anders’ reading voice was different from his normal one, much more even and measured. There was no fumbling for words, no stumbling over his own thoughts. Just a steady stream of sentence after sentence. The story was simple enough to follow, even though there was the occasional word Fenris had never heard before. Fenris found himself drifting after a while. He was still listening, but he’d stopped thinking, only concentrating on the words he heard, the story Anders was reading. He wasn’t falling asleep, but it was a close call.

Suddenly, Anders stopped. It woke Fenris from his doze with a small start. But everything was alright. The fire had burned down and some candles were almost gone. They were still alone in the dusty room. Fenris couldn’t figure what had caused Anders to stop reading all of a sudden.

“I… sorry, I should have… uhm…” What Fenris could see of Anders’ face was bright red. It puzzled him. “I should have skimmed. Ah… I mean, we could probably skip a few pages?” Anders was already flipping forward, quietly reading a sentence here and there before moving on to the next page.

The last thing Fenris remembered of the book was the girl and the sailor sharing a passionate kiss. That, combined with Anders’ fluster, lead him to conclude that what would follow was a explicit description of the night after the kiss. It was only logical.

Fenris gently took the book from Anders’ unresisting hands. “Maybe we should call it a night,” he suggested. “You can search for the end of the erotics tomorrow.” He paused. “I would not have taken you for one to blush at something like this.”

Anders sat up, leaving Fenris’ side feeling cold. It made Fenris long to pull him back against him. He didn’t, not when Anders was hiding his face in his hands.

“Are you alright?” Fenris asked.

“I… yes. Yes, I am. I think?”

“What is wrong? Tell me, please?”

“It’s just… I’m stupid. It’s stupid.”

Fenris waited for Anders to go on. Rushing him was usually pointless and only lead to sidetracking. 

“I’ve been trying not to think about…” Anders waved one hand over his head as if that explained anything. “Around you, at least. And then this stupid book, which I picked… I should have skimmed it before.”

Fenris swallowed. “Is it about the sex?” he forced himself to ask and yet cringed as the words left his mouth.

“No. Yes. Kind of.” Anders’ drew some shuddering breaths. “I also might be jealous. It’s so… uncomplicated. They meet. They find eachother attractive. There’s kissing. There’s no thinking about the next morning, or even the next ten minutes. No past to stop them, either. They’re just…”

Fenris pulled him back into his arms. “If…” He swallowed. His throat had gone so dry. “If you want to…”

“No.” Anders was shaking his head. He was shaking all over, too. “I don’t, not like… I can’t stop thinking. I can’t… there’s always a past. Always a future. I… I can’t, not like that.”

“This is a first,” Fenris noted. He pressed a kiss against Anders’ neck. “We will figure something out. In time.”

“If I didn’t know better,” Anders sighed as he leaned back. “I’d think that kiss is meant to seduce me.”

“Who says it is not?” Fenris asked. The lack of resistance emboldened him. “Let me promise a future.”

Anders put his hand on the arm Fenris had put around him. “You were rather upfront about your issues. I wouldn’t ask, ask that of you.”

“I know,” Fenris admitted. He pressed his lips and nose to Anders’ neck, breathing in the herbal scent that always clung to his mage. “I will never be used again.” He splayed his fingers wide on Anders’ belly. Intimate and yet neutral enough that he hoped he could get away with it. “But I was never under any illusions about your issues either.” He bit his lips. “You keep telling me you love me. I… I am afraid. Afraid of many things. Most of all, afraid that I would let you use me to hurt yourself.”

Anders was quiet after that admission. The only reaction he gave was entwining his fingers with Fenris’. His breath was uneven and shallow. More than once, he made a noise like he meant to start talking and then didn’t. Fenris waited patiently. Either Anders would talk, or he wouldn’t. He didn’t find it in him to push, not when it was clear that Anders was upset.

“The last time,” Anders finally whispered, his voice shaking. “The last time I… what if it’s me? What if I doom everyone I…”

“Breathe,” Fenris encouraged. “Like you told me. In. Hold. Out. Until the worst of the feeling passes.”

It took Anders long moments and quite a few false starts to get his breath back under control. He was holding onto Fenris’ hand the entire time. “Did Hawke ever tell you how we met?” 

“No. Hawke does not talk much about you or Merrill in my presence.” Fenris was curious where this question would lead to. “How did you meet?”

“Lirene told them how to find me,” Anders began. “They’d heard, or Varric had heard, not sure, that there was a Warden in Darktown. They came to ask for maps or anything that could help them with their harebrained expedition. I… that day was not a good day. But I thought… It was lucky that I’d encountered Hawke then. I offered a trade. Maps to the Deep Roads in the area for backup.”

“Backup for what?”

“I was to meet a… I always told Hawke he was a friend. But… back in the Circle, he, Karl, was much much more than that. For him, I thought I could live there forever. And then… One day, he was gone.”

“Sent to another circle,” Fenris guessed. He remembered the helpless feeling. Slaves had disappeared all the time with no notice, especially those that had no special value for their Masters.

“To Kirkwall. We exchanged notes, through the Mage Underground. We were to meet at the Chantry at that night. Hawke accompanied me. I… I knew it could be a trap. I knew something was wrong.” Anders curled in on himself. “I loved him. More than… I can’t even put it into words. But then, that night… I killed him, Fenris. Drove a dagger in his heart with my own hands.”

Patient, Fenris stroked up and down Anders’ arm. When no further details came, he coaxed, “Why?”

“Does it matter?”

“You do no harm without reason.”

When Anders spoke again, Justice echoed in his voice. “The bastards had made him tranquil. He asked me, in one lucid moment. He said he could not live like that. They had no reason, no reason at all…” Anders’ voice gave out.

Fenris held him in his arms. His chest felt tight with second-hand pain. There was nothing he could do to ease his mage’s pain. He could just remain as he was.

“I’m sorry,” Anders murmured. “This wasn’t how tonight was supposed to go.”

“No,” Fenris agreed. “However… I am sorry for your loss. Still, I am glad you told me.” He took a breath. “It is silly. I want to understand you better. To know all that is to know.”

“Not silly. Merely cliché.”

“Varric would laugh at me.”

That remark got Anders to smile a little. “He would. Maybe next time, we should read one of Varric’s novels. To give you ammunition. There’s always one or two of his books in circulation among the clinic’s helpers.”

“Then I shall inquire about it the next time I visit,” Fenris decided. “The girls already consider me one of them anyway.”

“Oh dear.” Anders tried to hide his laugh by snuggling against Fenris’ chest. “If they’re bothering you with gossip, please let me know.”

“They are not bothering me,” Fenris assured him. It had bothered him, in the beginning. Then, he’d considered it potentially useful information. But by now he’d realized that it was both a way to pass time and invaluable knowledge about patients. Knowledge Anders sometimes lacked. It allowed him to feel useful. “How else would I learn whose husband is a drunk and who’s probably expecting soon? Not to mention all the adventures and exploits of the Darktown and Lowtown urchins.”

Anders hummed. “Always important. Anything they’re saying about me? Anything I should know?”

“There’s a pot when you’ll introduce your significant other.” Fenris smiled. Somehow, most of more irregular helpers thought he was just a friend. Lirene, on the other hand, had taken only about a week to figure him out.

“Hm, I hope they mention how handsome and smart and strong he is.”

Fenris kissed the top of Anders’ head. “They mentioned you looked healthier.”

Anders put a hand on Fenris arm. “No mention of your capability or your charity?”

“Not that I am aware of.”

“Would you…” Anders’ fingers flexed. “Would you mind staying here a little longer?”

“No, not at all.” Fenris kissed his mage again. “We can stay all you want.”


	10. Chapter 10

“Anyone got any news?” Isabela dropped her cards on the table.

Fenris wasn’t entirely sure why he’d allowed himself to be roped into a night of drinking and gambling. It was probably due to Hawke’s more and more perfected puppy eyes. He raised, daring Hawke to do the same.

Hawke dropped their cards as well. “Fenris is still not telling me about his lover,” they pouted.

Varric raised with Fenris. “Still on about this, Hawke? You’ll hear what you need to know when you need to know, I’m sure.”

Fenris looked at his cards. Not a particularly good hand, but the odds of Varric having a better one were slim. He raised again. “Varric’s right,” he said gruffly.

“No, Varric’s not,” Hawke protested. At Varric’s bemused stern look they added: “On this and only this. Otherwise, my favorite dwarf is always right.”

“I am content,” Fenris said. “Is that not enough for you to know?”

“No,” Hawke whined. “I need to be sure you’re safe. That he can’t hurt you.”

“I can take care of myself, Hawke.”

“Hm, no, I’m with Hawke here.” Isabela winked at him. “Let us put your lover boy through the wringer to make sure he’ll never treat you wrong.”

Fenris snorted. “Lover boy?” The words didn’t square with Anders, no matter how hard he tried. It amused him, though.

“Beau, suitor, soon-to-be.” Isabela waved her hand dismissively. “Pick what you like.”

Fenris groaned. Varric had just revealed exactly the one possible hand that was better than his own. Begrudgingly, he pushed the pot toward the grinning dwarf.

“I will not throw him to the hounds,” Fenris declared. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Varric nod in approval. “That means you two.”

“Mean!” Isabela protested.

So quickly Fenris had no time to react, Hawke snatched his cup. “Maybe if alcohol doesn’t get you to talk, no alcohol might do the trick.”

“Give that back!” Fenris tried to reach for the half-empty cup of wine but Hawke held it out of reach, passing it to Isabela when Fenris managed to corner them. Fenris sat back down and glared at them both. 

“If you tell us a name you’ll get your wine back,” Isabela said. She held the cup in a way that drew attention to both it and her cleavage. 

Fenris crossed his arms in front of his chest. He kept his mouth shut. He would not be pressed into anything by anyone.

“No?” Isabela smirked at Hawke. “Can you think of a reason why Fenris wouldn’t even tell us a name?”

“Hmmmmm.” Hawke pretended to be thinking. They tapped their lower lip with their index finger. “Could it be one of us knows him?”

“Yes, I think so too.” Isabela’s smirk turned predatory. “Can you think of anything else that’d give us an idea who he is?”

Fenris’ scowl deepened. He was sure he’d been not careful enough. If his friends could figure it out, then so could his enemies. Not that he thought Anders wasn’t capable of defending himself. But there was always the chance they’d be used against each other.

Varric dealt the cards again. “How about we get back to the reason we’re actually here?”

“No.” Isabela didn’t even look at her cards. “This is much more fun.”

Hawke made a noise of agreement. “We know Fenris’ boyfriend is taller than him. And Fenris thinks he’s handsome.” They reached over and plucked something from Fenris’ shoulder, even though he did his best to lean away from Hawke. “Isabela, what would you call this color? Because it’s not a white hair.”

Isabela took the offered hair and inspected it in the candle light.

Fenris just hoped he could hide his growing panic. He hadn’t thought that a simple hair could give them away. There was no lie he had ready, no easy excuse. 

“Blond,” Isabela eventually concluded. “Or red. Possibly auburn. One of those.”

“So it could just as well be mine,” Varric came to Fenris’ rescue.

Hawke smirked. “What did you do to have one of your hairs stuck to Fenris’ shoulder?” They only gave Varric half a moment to answer, before they went on: “Right. So this is definitely Fenris’ boyfriend’s hair. A he who we know who’s tall and blond.” They narrowed their eyes. “Nah, that’s stupid.”

“Same first thought that I had?” Isabela purred. “But imagine. The hate sex would be so hot.”

“Please kill me,” Fenris groaned toward Varric. Isabela and Hawke were getting into more and more detail how they imagined Fenris having hate sex with Anders. “Please. I beg you.”

“Can’t do that and survive it,” Varric whispered back.

“Right.” Fenris cleared his throat. When that didn’t work, he stood up. Isabela and Hawke fell silent. “You two,” Fenris growled. “Should be aware that I would not be with anyone to hurt them.” He glared at Isabela especially. “If you are going to continue this, I will take my leave.”

“What? No!” Hawke protested. “It’s the first time in ages I got everyone to promise to come to Varric’s for an evening. You can’t leave early when not even everyone has arrived.”

Fenris scowled.

“Okay, okay, we’ll stop,” Hawke promised. 

“We’ll stop,” Isabela agreed. “It would be a crime to let you leave early and deprive us of the handsome view.”

“I hate you both,” Fenris grumbled as he sat back down. “When will the mages arrive, anyway?”

“Merrill meant to be here already,” Hawke replied. “Anders? Who knows. He promised to come but when is as usual anyone’s guess.”

Fenris snorted. Hawke was more right than they knew. Anders would be late for anything if not reminded. Anything, that was, aside from the one evening a week when he closed the clinic early. It was appreciated.

“Daisy said she wanted to tell some Alienage kids stories,” Varric said. Now that everyone had taken their cards back up, he seemed to be in a more chipper mood again. “Should be bedtime soon, so she should turn up eventually.”

It took about half a round a cards for Varric to relax again. Fenris hadn’t even noticed how much the dwarf had been made uncomfortable by their fighting until he wasn’t anymore. At the end of the first round, Hawke and Isabela had returned to their usual mode of communication, which was obnoxious flirting. By the end of the second, Fenris was taking part in the conversation again. He’d not yet forgiven Hawke and Isabela entirely, but he couldn’t stay angry at his friends for long. If he could forgive Hawke for trying to get into Anders’ bed and heart, he could forgive this, too.

During the fourth round, when Isabela had just dealt everyone a hand and they were still busy raising, they suddenly heard Merrill’s laugh outside the door. She was clearly talking to someone which had her happy, relaxed and almost breathless with laughter. Hawke and Isabela turned to the door. Varric used the distraction to sneak a look at Hawke’s cards. Fenris merely leaned back. He had heard the steps and he knew both people coming up to the door. 

“Who?” Hawke mouthed at Isabela but only got a shrug in response.

The door was held open for Merrill, before Anders followed her in. His smile dropped when he noticed Isabela and Hawke staring. “What?”

“It’s impolite to stare like that,” Merrill chided. She claimed the seat next to Isabela, allowing Anders to take the free chair next to Fenris.

“We thought you…” Hawke started, but Isabela quickly interrupted: “We didn’t know you two were such good friends, kitten.”

Merrill took that as her cue to happily tell Isabela all about the elven children she had dealt with during the day. Fenris leaned to the side to whisper to Anders, “You smell of smoke.” While he was at it, he stole a sip of Anders’ cider as well, since Hawke had still not given him his wine back.

“I did some weeding earlier,” Anders whispered back. “Merrill helped me burn the waste when I dropped by to loan her the story book as promised.”

Fenris smiled. He knew exactly what “ _ weeds” _ they’d used for kindling. His hand found Anders’ knee under the table, out of everyone’s view.

“And what are you two whispering about?” Hawke was wagging their eyebrows, clearly trying to remind Fenris about earlier.

“Weeds,” Anders replied, taking his cup of cider back. “Fenris asked if I could help him identify the weeds in his garden. See if any of them could be used for healing.”

“Yes, Hawke, weeds. Plants. Gardening,” Fenris confirmed. “The mage has taken to teaching me about herbs. So I do not have to suffer magic for ever scrape and scratch.”

“Oh.” Hawke’s face fell. They looked disappointed. 

Fenris scoffed. “Don’t tell me you actually believed Isabela’s lusty speculation.”

With a groan, Anders buried his face in his hands. “Not again,” he moaned. “Izzy, please, not again.”

“Hawke helped,” Isabela protested. “It wasn’t all me!”

“What are you all talking about?” Merrill looked from one to the next with big eyes. 

“Hawke and Isabela have the foolish notion that Anders and I are involved,” Fenris deadpanned. Under the table, he squeezed Anders knee. “Isabela was rather explicit about it.”

“Isabela always is,” Anders groaned. “She’s talked about this before. At me! At great length!”

Merrill tilted her head. “Why is this so bad?” she asked. “I think you’d make a cute couple.”

Fenris opened and closed his mouth uselessly. He couldn’t get any words out. Anders was spluttering his denial, red in the face. Hawke had also been stunned into silence. 

Only Isabela managed to keep her wits about her. “Why would you say that, kitten?” She stroked Merrill’s head. “I was thinking hot and unhealthy and dysfunctional, but definitely not cute.”

Merrill leaned into the pets. She seemed to enjoy Isabela’s physical attention. “But didn’t you notice how Anders’ eyes always go soft when he looks at Fenris? And he smiles, too, just the tiniest bit.”

“I!” Anders jolted, moving away from Fenris as much as he could. “I’d never!”

Fenris pulled his hand back as if he’d been burnt. He just hoped that Anders was acting, same as him. Steeling himself, he pulled a face. He’d have to say sorry to Anders later, when they were alone. “I hope you’re wrong, Merrill.” His heart was beating so fast, making blood whoosh in his ears. 

Hawke was still gaping at them. “What?” they croaked. They looked at Merrill. “What?” When that didn’t lead to a direct answer, they turned to Varric, “What?!”

Varric shrugged. “Why’re you even asking me? I know nothing. And I don’t see it.”

“So, Merrill’s wrong?” Hawke turned back to Fenris. There was so much hope in their expression, it hurt Fenris to feed it with falsehoods. 

Fenris shrugged. “I have not noticed anything,” he lied. “We have become… friends lately. So we spent more time. But…”

Hawke had already stopped paying attention, so Fenris shut his mouth. He turned to look at Anders, because Hawke was staring at him. Anders did his best to avoid making eye contact with anyone. “Leave me alone, Hawke,” Anders murmured. Fenris could barely resist a physical reaction to that response. A groan and slapping his hand to his face felt like it would have been appropriate. 

Isabela squeed in glee. “Tell us everything,” she demanded. The long thing that kept her from leaping across the table was Merrill half on her lap. “Tell me everything. We can kick Fenris out if that helps! And Hawke! Girls only!”

“Rivaini, this is my room,” Varric chuckled. 

“You get to stay as a honorary girl,” Isabela shut him up. “Anders, please.”

Hawke made a strangled noise Fenris couldn’t place. 

“I can’t see how this is any of your business, Izzy.” Anders’ voice was shaking, the tiniest bit, but audible enough for Fenris to pick it up. “I… I… I think it’s better if I… If I leave. Now. Right now.” He stood, still red in the face. It was a flight. He didn’t even pretend that it wasn’t. 

Hawke repeated the strangled noise. They’d gotten up at the same time as Anders. “I’ll… I’ll go after him,” they announced, before they left in a hurry. 

“Well done,” Fenris groaned. He gave in and buried his face in his hands. “Neither of you could keep your mouths shut, could you?”

“So you did notice!” Fenris peeked out between his fingers only to find Isabela pointing at him in an accusing way. 

“Notice what? That the fool mage reacts to positive attention like a flower to the sun?” Fenris rubbed his temples. “That is hardly a secret.”

Isabela squeed.

“If you do not stop this, I will not tell you anything, if only to protect Merrill’s ears.”

“It’s alright,” Merrill assured him. She’d climbed fully into Isabela’s lap. “I can take it if it means I’m getting included. I do get included this time, don’t I?”

“You’re at the very center of it, kitten.” Isabela hugged Merrill. “So. You were saying, Fenris?”

Fenris felt the heat creep up his cheeks. “I was saying that I noticed weeks ago. And I… might have used the observation for my own goals.”

Isabela narrowed her eyes. “That sounds bad.”

“That’s what I said when I first heard, Rivaini.” Varric waved his hand. “Don’t let his ineptitude lead you astray. Broody, continue, before Rivaini decides to keelhaul you for toying with Blondie.”

Fenris dropped his gaze. “I… between small kindnesses and … talk, listening… I…” He took a deep breath. It didn’t help. Everything was spinning. “I have started to fancy…” He swallowed against his dry throat. “Fancy him,” he concluded with a small voice.

When nobody said anything, Fenris took Anders’ abandoned cup and downed the rest of the cider.

“And Anders knows?” Isabela’s voice had turned soft.

Fenris nodded.

“He speaks so well of you,” Merrill assured him. She’d slipped from Isabela’s embrace and walked around the table. She hugged Fenris. “I thought it was a one sided crush but I’m really happy for you.”

Fenris hesitated for a moment, before he returned the hug. “Thank you, Merrill.”

“What’s it like?” Merrill asked. “Being with someone, I mean. I haven’t been, yet, and…” She blushed a little. 

“Oh, kitten.” Isabela smiled much softer than Fenris had ever thought her capable of. “I could show you. I promise I’ll take it slow.”

“I could not tell you,” Fenris admitted. “I have not… out of my own free will, at least.”

“What?” Varric asked, just at the same time as Isabela started, “But you’ve seen Anders, right? He is great fun, trust me. You’re in good hands there.”

“One, none of your business,” Fenris grumbled. “And two, I have seen Anders and I have seen him nervous about taking his shirt of. I will not pressure him. I can wait.”

“But…”

“Leave it, Rivaini,” Varric chuckled. “Not everyone has your vigor or passion for the physical.” He winked at Merrill. “Looks like you’re right, Daisy, they’re a sickeningly sweet couple.”

“There’s one thing I don’t understand,” Merrill said, her eyes wide. “In Varric’s stories, the protagonist always runs after their lover. Why didn’t you run after Anders, earlier?”

Fenris shrugged. It wasn’t like it hadn’t occurred to him, but Hawke had beaten him to it. “The mage can handle himself.”

“Oh, Broody.” Varric pinched the bridge of his nose. “Please don’t tell me you’re also saying stuff like that to Blondie’s face. That boy’s a romantic, deep down. He’d love you showing up like a white knight.”

“Besides, you don’t know what Hawke’s wheedling out of him while they’re all alone,” Isabela added.

Fenris blanched, just a bit. “He has been fending off Hawke for months all by himself. He is very capable.”

“So is Hawke,” Varric reminded him. “As much as I love Hawke, they’re not someone who sees a crack and doesn’t push. And Blondie did look a bit cracked. Emotionally speaking.”

“Simply put.” Isabela stood up. “We’re rooting for your dumb ass, so if you don’t go, right now, I will kick you out and make you.”

Fenris swallowed. Isabela didn’t look like she was joking. He stood up, feeling just the slightest bit faint. “I will be going then.” His voice was shaking despite him willing it not to.

“Tell us how it went tomorrow,” Isabela hollered after him. 

Fenris walked down the stairs. It was bad enough everyone in the tap room noticed him leaving, he did not wish for any witnesses to remember him in a hurry. He managed to get to the stairs down to Darktown before he started to run.

At the turn of a corner, he almost fell over a street urchin running in the opposite direction. They both stumbled but caught themselves instead of falling. The urchin looked up at Fenris with big eyes. “Serah Fenris,” the urchin squeaked. “The healer. At the clinic. There’s yelling. It sounds like trouble.”

Fenris nodded. He knew the urchin. Just a week ago, he’d cleaned the wound in the kid’s arm before bandaging it. “I know,” Fenris replied. “I’m on my way.”

“Good luck! Keep him safe!” the urchin called, even though Fenris had already started running again. 

The door to the clinic was open. He saw that before he even heard the raised voices. Fenris slowed down. He’d been worried that Hawke would try to turn Anders away from him. It didn’t sound like that would succeed. His pride was telling him not to show up out of breath and disheveled from running all the way. He didn’t want Hawke to get the right idea.

“...none of your business,” he heard Anders yell as he walked up the stairs to the clinic’s doors. “I will decide on my own what to do with my own feelings. If that means trying to keep them to myself to hold on to what I have, I will.”

“I just offered my help,” Hawke yelled back. “You don’t have to talk to him without backup. I can keep you safe.”

“I can keep myself safe,” Anders snapped back. The words made Fenris stop in his tracks, feeling guilty. For a second he considered hiding outside the doors. Coming all of a sudden felt like not trusting Anders enough. “Fenris wouldn’t hurt me.”

“He’s threatened you often enough,” Hawke said just as Fenris reached the door. Neither of them were looking in his direction, too preoccupied with their argument. A part of Fenris couldn’t help but call that stupid and reckless. Anyone could walk up to them. He was close enough already for a clean, deadly, shot at either of them. As Hawke went on, Fenris was of half a mind to throw anything at hand at their head, “You know how he is about mages and possession. He’d kill you if you’d corner him, like a rabid-“

Hawke was interrupted by Anders grabbing them by the neck of their shirt. “Finish that sentence, Hawke, I dare you,” Anders hissed. “If you think him, or Justice, for that matter, so dangerous, why do you even keep us around. What kind of friend are you?”

“Mage!” Fenris called out without thinking. Anders released his grip on Hawke’s neck. They both turned to look at Fenris. “As much as I appreciate the thought, do not hurt Hawke.” He cleared his throat. “I came to talk. About earlier.”

Hawke freed themself of Anders’ loosened grip. Despite everything, they moved between Fenris and Anders, spreading their arms protectively. “He’s done nothing wrong!”

The corner of Fenris’ mouth twitched. “I am certain that is incorrect,” he said. “However, he did not do me any wrong. I mean no harm.”

Hawke pressed their lips together. They crossed their arms in front of their chest. “Meaning no harm and doing no harm is two different things.”

“As I am sure you are well aware.” It was a cheap shot, but Fenris couldn’t help himself. “I came to talk to Anders. Alone.”

“I’m not leaving you alone with him.” Hawke was nothing if not stubborn.

“Hawke,” Anders sighed deeply. “Please, just leave. I’m sure I’ll be alright. Fenris will be, too. We can handle being alone, without your supervision.”

“Or I could stay within shouting distance,” Hawke suggested. 

Fenris rolled his eyes. “Could you handle it if instead of screams or shouts, but something else entirely?”

Hawke’s eyes widened. “You wouldn’t, would you? I thought you had a boyfriend!”

“You were speculating about it being the mage earlier,” Fenris reminded them. He sighed, pinched the bridge of his nose. The headache brewing behind his eyes wasn’t going away. As was Hawke, apparently. “If you stay and listen, will you leave with me after I said my piece?”

Hawke pressed their lips together. “Anders?” they finally asked after a long pause.

“I…” Anders looked puzzled. “Stay if you must,” he concluded with a sigh.

“Fine. I’ll leave with Fenris,” Hawke huffed. 

“Mage, are you willing to keep our relationship as it was before tonight?” Fenris asked. His words had been chosen carefully. He didn’t want Hawke to know. He didn’t want to lose Hawke as a friend.

Anders blinked for a moment. Fenris could see him think, could tell the moment he understood what he was asking. “Yes, yes, of course. I value what we have. I don’t… I wouldn’t do anything to risk it.”

“Am I still allowed to help at the clinic tomorrow?”

Hawke opened their mouth to respond but Anders was quicker: “Of course.”

“Then I have said everything I needed to say,” Fenris concluded. He turned around to leave. “Hawke, are you coming?”

Fenris was already at the door when he heard Hawke murmured their goodbyes. Anders followed them to the door, locking right behind them. Fenris and Hawke walked in silence to the elevator that would take them up to Hightown. The silence hung heavy between them during the ride up.

It took about halfway from the elevator to Hawke’s mansion for Hawke to crack. “I don’t get why you came after us,” they huffed. “Can’t you let me get my shot?”

“Your shot?” Fenris raised an eyebrow. “He clearly didn’t want you to. Which part of he likes you as a friend is hard to grasp?”

“And you? He likes you as more than a friend and you… you outright told him he will stay nothing but a friend! That’s cruel!”

“It was his choice, he could have told me he is incapable to remain friends. I would have respected that.”

Hawke glared at him, but kept their mouth shut. They didn’t even bid Fenris goodbye when they reached their mansion. As likely intended, it made Fenris feel bad. Not about what Hawke thought he’d done, but about lying to them. He’d give Hawke a couple of days to come back around.

Back at his own derelict mansion, he made sure the front door was locked. The evening had been long and exhausting. He was ready to retire to bed and not think about any of his friends for a while. Instead, he went to the cellar. Anders was already waiting at the secret passage there. He barely made it off the doorstep before Fenris collapsed into his arms.

“I am sorry,” Fenris whispered. He wrapped his arms around his mage. “I should have told Hawke the truth.”

“And then what?” Anders chuckled. He was rubbing circles into Fenris’ back. “Would you have fought the fight Hawke’d started? It’s fine. I just wish I’d… I know you want to keep us secret. I… I wish I’d been better about hiding.”

“I told Merrill and Isabela,” Fenris confessed. “After you left. Varric already knew.”

“I’m pretty sure I told Merrill first.” Anders kissed Fenris’ forehead. “I spent most of the afternoon with her talking about you. She’s a lot more perceptive than she’s letting on.”

Fenris tightened his hug. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

 


	11. Chapter 11

Working in the clinic was stifling. Fenris had no other way to describe it sometimes. It wasn’t the smells, even though they could be bad sometimes. It wasn’t the overwhelming amount of work they faced every single day Anders lit the lantern. It wasn’t even the children that came to the clinic just to get his attention for a bit, tugging him in every direction if he didn’t put a stop to it immediately. 

No, the stifling feeling had come when Anders had begun to actively teach him how to prepare medicines. Everything needed boiling water. Everything. Preparing a plant extract? Chop it up, put it in a jar with oil, cook the jar in water. A wound needed washing? Put plants in hot water to infuse. Salve? Jar in hot water, again. Half the time, Fenris came home feeling like he’d spent the day in a laundry.

Anders’ stock constantly needed replenishing. The first couple of times Fenris had watched when he had the time. Soon, he’d started asking Anders to explain. He wanted to learn. It was useful. It meant he could help. Both the clinic’s patients and Anders. It meant Fenris could feel like he was helping, too.

Hawke was avoiding him. It meant Fenris had more time at his hands. He spent the time as much as he could with Anders, whether at the clinic or in his own home. He needed that, needed it to calm the fear that rose from his bones whenever he allowed Anders out of his sight. After a while, Anders had gotten annoyed with him for it. He could tell, even though Anders didn’t say anything. That was when he took up learning to restock the clinic.

“You know,” Anders noted one slow evening while they were preparing a fresh batch of salves. “This would be a lot easier if you’d let me teach you how to read and write.”

Fenris looked at him. “Normal people would ask if I wanted that,” he noted.

“I don’t need to.” Anders rolled his eyes. “I already know you want to be able to. You’re not the only one that can be perceptive.”

Fenris picked up one of the jars Anders used to store dried herbs in. “El-f-roo-t,” he read. “Despite your handwriting, I can tell.”

“You can identify the smell, you mean.” Anders snatched the jar from his hands. “And my handwriting is fine. Perfectly legible.”

“Quot homines tot sentiae.” Fenris smirked.

“You can just ask Isabela or Varric if you don’t like my handwriting,” Anders huffed.

Fenris reached for Anders’ wrist to pull him close. “I don’t want them to teach me. I want you.” A quick glance to make sure they were unobserved. He kissed Anders. “But I want it on equal grounds. Let me teach you something in return.”

“Mea lingua Tevena est operanda,” Anders shot back. “I think. It’s enough for me, at least. You’re not the only one who had to learn foreign languages like Trade.”

“Then what about something practical,” Fenris pressed on. “I could teach you how to defend yourself without magic.”

Anders sighed. “Sorry.” He pulled a face for just a second. “What did you have in mind?”

“Basic sword fighting?”

“I don’t think I have the physique for that.” Anders was avoiding eye contact. “That’s… I don’t…”

Fenris took his hand, squeezed it. “It doesn’t matter. It’ll be fine.”

“I don’t need basic sword fighting knowledge.” Anders moved his free hand up to his head but then thought otherwise and tapped his chest. “I already… know. I just don’t… I don’t have the muscle memory.”

Fenris stared at him.

“What?” Anders wrapped his arms around himself.

“N-“ Fenris took a deep breath. “I always thought he was a mage like you,” he whispered. “I had not considered that he was a swordsman.”

Anders shrugged. He didn’t let go of himself. “Think Aveline but with charisma.”

Fenris had trouble finding the words. He distracted himself by stirring the jar in front of him, trying to get the beeswax to dissolve quicker. Eventually, he settled on leaning close to Anders and whispering as low as he could, “So you always had a thing for warriors.”

Anders shoved him in the shoulder. He didn’t return to hugging himself after anymore. Fenris counted it as a win. “Only him and you. Though, our relationship wasn’t… it wasn’t like that.” Anders swallowed. “Otherwise…” He squeezed his eyes shut for a second. “Before him, you, my… my relationships with people with swords and heavy armor…” His voice was shaking even at the low volume. “It was more like yours with mages.”

“Noted.” Fenris barely resisted the urge to pull Anders in a hug and not let him go. “Is that a definite no on the sword practice?” He took the now completely blended salve from the boiling water, using a cloth to protect his fingers. There was a small rack Anders used to let the jars cool where he could put it. “I would take my shirt off.”

That got the tiniest smile out of Anders. “When you put it like this… I’ll… we’ll think about it.”

~*~

Anders took his time thinking about it. As the days passed, Fenris’ hope he’d agree slowly faded. He was already considering what other skills he would be able to offer. It was mostly his pride keeping him from simply accepting Anders’ offer to teach him how to read. He needed to feel like they were both giving the other something, any semblance of equal power. Teacher and student was a power imbalance he had a hard time accepting.

He’d almost given up hope when Anders returned home for an early night together, smiling proudly. “I have a gift for you,” he announced, producing a thin board he’d unsuccessfully tried to hide behind his back. “Do you know what this is?”

Fenris took the board. It was more of a frame, about as long as his arm and about half as wide as it was long. One side had a coating of… he sniffed at it. Beeswax. He looked at Anders with wide eyes. “A tabula cerata?” he asked. “I am sorry. I do not know what it is called in Trade.”

“Still a wax tablet,” Anders beamed. He fussed around before he managed to find the stylus for the tablet in one of his coat pockets. He shuffled his feet. “I thought… well, at the beginning, it’s best if you write a lot. A lot a lot. And… it’s hard enough getting hold of paper and it’s expensive and… with this, when you’re done with a page, you can just smooth the wax out and start over again and… uh. Well.” He snapped his mouth shut. Closed his eyes for a moment. “That’s our answer,” he said, finally. Blood had rushed to his cheeks. “I- I don’t… swords still make me uncomfortable. But I… it’s a useful skill to have. We’d be… lucky to be able to use it again.”

Fenris noticed his hand holding the tablet was shaking. He hadn’t expected something as thoughtful as this present. “I…” He swallowed. “I would have drawn letters in the sand…” He faltered. “This is more than I expected,” he admitted. “Thank you.”

“I… ah… I… I just cobbled it together… I had… everything at the clinic anyway and…” Anders broke off. He brushed Fenris’ bangs back. “I love you,” he concluded. “I like to do nice things for you.”

His brain didn’t have much input on Fenris’ reaction. He acted on instinct when he wrapped his arms around Anders shoulders. A little more momentum and it would have been painful as he pressed his lips to Anders’, hard.

 ~*~

Waking up with Anders still fast asleep, head on his chest or shoulder instead of a pillow, felt like a dream each time. It was too warm, too comfortable, too peaceful to be real. It was too safe to last. Fleeting like a dream. 

Pushing those thoughts and the anxiety that came along from his mind was easy for Fenris. He wanted it to be easy. At least for a few minutes each day, he wanted the warm, easy, present. He got the warm, easy, present each time, for a bit, while carding his hands through Anders’ hair or stroking down his back. 

Anders fought his return to the waking world every step of the way. It was plain to see for Fenris. Always the same, Anders tried to hide his face from the morning light. Sooner or later, Anders would press his nose to Fenris’ neck. The warmth of his breath tingled on Fenris’ skin. Some days, Fenris would take that as his time to coax Anders fully awake.

On days like this, when he was feeling comfortable and lazy, he waited for Anders to wake on his own. It usually came with small kisses to his neck, behind his ear. This morning, Fenris took that as his cue to let his hand travel further down Anders’ back, to stretch his neck to the side to allow better access, to tug the shirt from his leggings when Anders’ hand brushed the hem in question. Anders’ hand was warm against his skin. 

“Is this alright?” Anders whispered against Fenris’ ear. His voice was still hoarse from sleep. 

Fenris nodded. Sighed. He knew if he took too long to answer, Anders would pull back his hand and he didn’t want that. He wasn’t sure about more, still. But the hand on his stomach was warm.

A shudder went through Fenris as Anders moved his hand. “Does the shirt bother you?” he asked. He could feel the fabric catch every now and then. 

“Are you offering to take it off?” The kisses stopped. Anders’ hand stilled. He propped himself up to look Fenris in the face.

“Too much? Too soon?” Worry creased Fenris’ brow.

“Unexpected,” Anders admitted. “Just the shirt would be fine. I think.” He blushed. “I want… want to see but…”

“Just me,” Fenris assured him. He pushed some strands of hair out of his mage’s face. “You do not have to.”

He could see Anders think, prepare to protest. Fenris decided to take the easy path out. He took Anders’ face in his hands and kissed him. “You do not have to do anything that makes you uncomfortable with me,” he repeated. 

Anders sighed. “We will have to have the talk eventually.”

“Not now.” Worry. It wasn’t what Fenris had expected to feel. “We do not have to have that talk now.”

“I trust you.” Not a response. Fenris knew this meant Anders had made up his mind. He forced himself to relax despite his worry. 

“Remember how I told you Justice wants me alive?” 

Fenris wanted to respond but the words died in his throat as Anders pulled off his shirt. He wished the reason were because the view was more than he had fantasized about. He wished it was anything else than the real reason. 

There were countless scars of all sizes on Anders’ torso. Anders very studiously looked away from Fenris. He did nothing to cover anything up. Not even the large scar dominating his chest. 

Fenris reached out, but fell short of touching it. “How did…?”

“...that happen? Sword. Templar.”

“And Justice?”

“Decided to do everything in his power to keep me alive.” Anders shrugged. “I don’t remember.”

“Small wonder.” Fenris touched his fingertips to the scar. “I am glad he did.”

“So… you’ll not yell at me? Tell me I’m a monster? Or an abomination?” Anders’ eyes were wide, pupils dilated so much barely any of his irises were left visible. Without breathing, he burst out: “I’ll show you my back now, get this all over with.”

There was a matching scar to the one on Anders’ chest. It didn’t surprise Fenris. The scar had looked like it would go through all the way. He’d seen such scars before, on people he cared about less, on body parts less dangerous. What did make his breath catch were all the scars below it. Stripe over stripe. Lash over lash. A lattice of whipping scars.

There were no words Fenris could say. So he didn’t even try. He pulled Anders in his arms and held him. “I did not know,” he murmured. “I am sorry.”

“You didn’t know,” Anders confirmed. He was holding onto Fenris’ arms. “I’m not telling… I don’t talk about it… you weren’t meant to know.”

“And thus I decided my false assumptions had to be right,” Fenris sighed. “You must have thought me an ass.”

“Well, yes.” The smile in Anders’ voice was audible. “But I also think the rest of you is just as gorgeous.”

Fenris put his mouth to the crook of Anders’ neck. He wasn’t sure whether it was to bite or to kiss. “So you like me for my body.” Safer, more solid terrain. He could dance around their mutual attraction for months. It was a welcome shift in topic.

“I could love your body if you’d let me.”

Tempting. And Anders could feel him being tempted, moved just enough to make it clear that he did. “What…” Fenris swallowed around his dry mouth. “What would you do if I let you?”

Anders wiggled around so he could look in Fenris’ face. “I’d kiss you.” He wagged his eyebrows. “Everywhere.” Every syllable of the husky word got pronounced separately. The expression on Anders’ face told Fenris the rest. 

“I should have heeded Isabela’s warnings,” Fenris sighed. He let go of Anders and let himself fall backwards onto the bed. “Do what you will.”

Anders shook his head, smiling. “A little more enthusiasm wouldn’t kill you.” 

“No. But I do not know how deserved that would be, yet.” His breath caught as Anders crawled over him. It was fine, he reminded himself. He was safe and they both wanted it. The panic dissipated as Anders kissed him, slow, indulgent, without any urgency.

Equally slow, Anders pushed one of his hands beneath Fenris’ shirt. He didn’t break the kiss, even when he hiked the shirt up higher and higher. His fingers roamed over Fenris chest, making Fenris arch his back. 

Fenris relaxed. The word “stop” was still at the tip of his tongue. He didn’t say it. He lost his shirt somehow. He didn’t protest that either.

Anders knew what he was doing. The thought made it through the haze filling Fenris’ head as Anders’ lips left his to travel down his body. He felt hot, his chest tight. It was already too much, even before Anders’ reached his stomach, even before Anders tugged at the fastenings of his leggings. 

Fenris squeezed his eyes shut. He’d wanted this. He still wanted it. He had no idea how he could handle it. His hands found Anders’ shoulder. He fumbled, tugged, tried to get him to move back up.

“What’s wrong?” Anders whispered. He’d followed Fenris tugs. A warm hand pushed back the bangs from Fenris’ face.

Fenris couldn’t answer. His throat was too dry and blocked by a lump at the same time. There was nothing wrong. He should like this, as he’d wanted. The only thing wrong was him. 

“Do you want to stop?”

Fenris swallowed. He didn’t. He couldn’t go on either. He nodded.

“Alright. Can I still hug you?”

Again, Fenris nodded.

“I’m sorry,” Anders said. He was sincere. He gathered Fenris in his arms and hugged him. “I’m so sorry.”

It took Fenris to understand what Anders was even on about. He was the one feeling guilty, a little broken even. He should be the one apologizing. He didn’t, because Anders was doing it enough for two. “I love you,” he said instead. His voice was hoarse, foreign in his mouth and throat. 

“I love you, too.”

Awkward. This whole situation felt awkward. All security Fenris had felt not even an hour ago was gone, replaced by the guilt of a vague sense of failure. Anders, too, seemed uncertain, insecure, nervous and twitchy like he hadn’t been in a long time. 

“Do you want to do something else?” Anders suddenly burst out.

“Like what?” Fenris asked. He sounded grumpy, sulky even. Frustrated with himself, he had a hard time keeping it in. 

“Like the promised sword practice,” Anders suggested. “Let’s do something we both know you’re amazing at. You could knock me on the arse a bit.” There was a hint of blue in his eyes.

“Or I could knock Justice on the ass in a sparring match.”

Anders laughed. “You can try.”

They found a shield and a couple of blunt swords in the room Fenris’ had tossed all the weapons in when he was making the rooms he used habitable. Anders had put his shirt back on as soon as they’d left the bed. He’d made a joke about it, something about the sun and his skin. Fenris had barely listened. Anders hadn’t stopped talking for even a moment, filling every possible silence with chatter. 

It got only worse when he picked up a sword. He was obviously feeling unwell holding it. “Justice says he likes this one,” Anders said. “I don’t.”

“Will you like any?” Fenris himself was feeling out the blunt two handed swords. He needed one he wanted to use, one that wouldn’t hurt Anders too much if he accidentally hit him. One that allowed him not to embarrass himself sparring Justice, too.

“No, I won’t.” Anders shrugged. “Doesn’t matter.”

“It matters if I am forcing you into being uncomfortable,” Fenris said. He wasn’t looking at Anders.

“You’re not. I want to learn this. I do.”  Anders hugged himself. “I want to be able to fight. No magic. No Justice. I need to…” A deep breath. “But not today. I think it’d do you and Justice good to, I dunno, cross blades or whatever you have in mind.”

Fenris had finally found a suitable sword. He clapped Anders on the shoulder. “I does not have to be today.” He kissed Anders gently. “Are you ready?”

“Yes,” Anders whispered. He closed his eyes. Leaned on Fenris. The change pulled on Fenris’ markings. When he opened his eyes again, Justice replied, “Yes, we are ready.”


	12. Chapter 12

Justice twirled the sword in his hand. The difference in stance and expression was staggering to Fenris. He looked calm and collected where Anders’ nervous energy usually made itself known. He held himself straight where Anders tried to seem as inconspicuous as possible. His bright blue gaze burned in Fenris’ eyes hard and unforgiving.

Deep breaths. Instinct told Fenris to run. Instead, he put a hand on Justice’s forearm. He knew he was safe with Justice. The tingle in his hand, going up his arm, did its best to convince him otherwise. Fenris ignored it.

“Is the sword to your liking?” he asked. He didn’t know what else to say.

“This sword will suffice,” Justice confirmed. For a second, he looked contemplative. “It is this body that feels not right holding it. It is different. Anders is more at ease with a staff.”

“Are you?” The question slipped out before Fenris could stop himself. He’d already gotten to used to being open with Anders. It wasn’t much different with Justice.

Justice tilted his head to the side. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “No,” he said. “A sword and a shield have always been what I prefered.”

“Poetic,” Fenris joked. “A shield to protect the meek and a sword to punish the unjust.” He gently steered Justice outside into the small inner yard of his mansion. On the far end, where no weeds grew, he’d set up a training court some time ago. He’d never thought he’d invite anyone to it.

“I have never thought about it like this,” Justice admitted. “The commander gave me my weapons in this world.”

Fenris pressed his lips together. He wasn’t sure if the joke had been a mistake. He stopped, his toes digging into the sand.

“Do not fret,” Justice said. He was smiling. “I like your idea. I think, that would have been like the commander. It is a good thought.”

“Was this commander a friend of yours?” Fenris asked. It was hard getting anything about his past out of Anders, but Justice seemed happy enough to talk about it. Fenris readied himself for sparring, as Justice was doing the same.

“She was.” Justice paused. “Is. I hope she still is. We have not spoken to her in some years.”

“You miss her,” Fenris noted. He was waiting for the first attack, shifting his weight with each of Justice’s movements.

Justice dealt his first blow, quicker than Fenris had thought him capable. Fenris parried, turned his grip and used the force for a blow of his own. His sword bounced off the shield. “I miss our friends. Not only the commander. Though I miss our talks. She had always had the time to answer my questions about this world.”

They circled each other, searching for an opening. It had been a while since Fenris had an actually skilled opponent. Justice attacked again, his shield ready when Fenris countered. Fenris had expected as much, using the force of the rebound to spin around and attach from the other side, ducking under Justice’ blade. He managed to nick Anders’ tattered shirt, deflected by the hilt of Justice’s sword. He’d never been able to do any actual harm like this.

“You are quite skilled,” Fenris noted, somewhat out of breath. “Remind me to buy you a new shirt.”

“As are you,” Justice responded. “The new shirt will be appreciated.”

“So, your commander, what is she like?” Fenris tried a low attack, that Justice avoided easily, countering with his shield that Fenris only avoided by letting himself fall flat on the ground, rolling out of the way and back on his feet when Justice brought down his blade. 

“She is brave. Smart. But with a will that shapes the world around her instead of bending her. I admire her.” Still on the back foot from his narrow avoidance of the shield, Fenris failed to get out of the way of Justice’s blade in time. He got his ear nicked for his recklessness. 

Fenris cursed. He cursed louder when Justice threw himself against him, bringing them both to the ground. Glass had shattered. A dagger was still vibrating from the force with which it had entered the wall behind Fenris. Fenris stared at it, mouth open. It took them both only a heartbeat to get back on their feet, ready to fight whoever was attacking them.

Fenris didn’t think. This was his house, his home. He activated his markings. If anyone dared to attack him here, dared to attack Justice, Anders!, here, he would make them pay. He was across the yard in a flash of blue light. He didn’t register his name being called. He wasn’t sure what had happened in detail until he was pressing Hawke up against a wall, very nearly cutting off the air from their lungs.

“Fenris!” Anders was calling out to him. It was enough for Fenris to relax his grip to allow Hawke to breathe but not enough to let go of Hawke.

“What,” Fenris growled. “Is the meaning of this?”

“Thought he’d attacked you,” Hawke pressed out. “Heard the noise of fighting.”

Fenris was vaguely aware of other people around him. Merrill, possibly. At least he didn’t mind her. He thought he heard Varric, too, trying to defuse the situation. Fenris ignored him. “So you attacked me? Him?!”

“Thought he’d hurt you. You’re bleeding.”

“We were sparring,” Fenris growled. “You could have done anything. You threw a knife.”

“Not. Your. Enemy. Fenris.” Hawke wheezed. “Please.”

Fenris let Hawke drop. Hawke crumbled to the ground, coughing. “You could at least say you are sorry,” Fenris told them before turning around. He didn’t want to be here. It had been a nice morning, not perfect but nice enough. Until Hawke had shown up.

Distracted, Fenris touched his ear. His fingers came back bloody. He stared at the blood for a moment. It hadn’t felt serious. He hadn’t been worried. Should he have been? He hadn’t known Justice all that well. But he trusted him, trusted him more than he’d trusted Hawke lately. This whole morning had been a string of mistakes and misfortune.

“Fenris?” Anders was standing in front of him, close, too close, with healing magic glowing in his hand. “Would you allow me to heal you?”

Fenris turned away. He didn’t want to. He wanted to slink off and hide. He hugged himself, feeling cold without a shirt all of a sudden. “No, I will not.” There was more bite in his voice than he had meant to use. He didn’t want to hurt Anders, but lashing out was easier, always easier, than dealing with a situation like this. 

It was easier as long as he didn’t look at Anders.

He pushed past Anders, gaze fixed to the ground. He needed to get away, get somewhere he could breathe again. Anders was calling after him but he ignored it. He fled up the stairs, back into his bedroom. He locked the door behind him before sinking to the floor, his back against the door, arms around his knees.

The room needed fresh air. Their clothes still lay on the floor where they’d dropped them earlier. Fenris reached for Anders’ coat lying close to him. He wrapped himself in it, breathing in its herbal smell.

He was shaking. He’d never been this terrified. Not of himself. Not for himself. If Justice hadn’t reacted as quickly, he wasn’t sure what would have happened. He could have lost Anders. Because Hawke had been stupid. Because he had dared to let his guard down. Because he had dared to feel safe in his own home.

He ignored the knocks on the door. He ignored Anders’ pleas to let him in. The feathered pauldrons tickled his nose. He didn’t tell Anders to go away.

“I could unlock this for you, Blondie,” came Varric’s muffled voice through the door a while after the pleas and knocks had stopped. “He looked pretty upset out there.”

“No.” Anders was using his healer voice, the one that didn’t allow for any discussion on his decisions. “You’ll only make it worse.”

“Your call, Blondie,” Varric sighed. “I just don’t think Broody should be alone right now.”

“He’s not,” Anders raised his voice. The words were meant for Fenris, not Varric. “I’ll not leave him alone like this. I’ll stay right here until he tells me to fuck off.”

There was a thump and another deep sigh from Varric. For a while, nobody said anything. Fenris could pretend that he was alone, that he could deal with his own issues without hurting people he didn’t want to hurt. He was already feeling bad about hurting Hawke, a part of him insisting that he’d proven them right, that he was no better than a rabid dog without a leash.

There was a soft knock at the lower left corner of the door. When Fenris put his hand over the spot, he could feel the vibrations of the next knock. He responded in kind. He didn’t want to show himself to Anders, or anyone, right now. But the little gesture made his chest warm. It reminded him that Anders was still there, waiting for him to be ready.

“Anders?” Merrill sounded worried. Fenris could picture her expression, the drawn eyebrows, the pulled up lips, the twitching ears. “I think Hawke needs help. They keep coughing.”

“If they’re coughing, they’re breathing.” Anders’ voice was icy. “Give it a few weeks and all the marks will be gone, too. So, go. Away. Hawke.”

“I wanted to help,” Hawke croaked. Even through the heavy wooden door, it sounded pained. 

“You didn’t.” There were shuffling noises, probably from Anders getting to his feet. “Leave. Now.”

“You can’t just throw.” A cough interrupted Hawke. “Me out of Fenris’ house.” Another cough. “Like you own it.”

“Hawke.” Anders’ voice was a warning growl. “I live here.”

Fenris buried his face in the coat. His ears felt like they were burning. It was true, of course. He wouldn’t want it any other way.

Hawke was trying to say something but a coughing fit made it all unintelligible for Fenris.

“Yes, Hawke.” Anders sighed deeply. “I’m serious. About all of it. You can make a scene later, if you need to, but right now? Right now I want you out of this house. Don’t make me make you. If I had to choose… Fenris is… so much more important than you.”

There was the echo from Justice’s voice in Anders. It was no threat, not to Fenris at least.

“C’mon, Hawke, why don’t we leave and…” Varric, Varric of all people, seemed to be at a loss of words. “Go have a stiff drink. It might… help. Or at least it can’t make anything worse. And maybe Isabela’ll have a scarf for that neck bruise of yours.”

Two sets of heavy steps, then nothing for a long while. Only an occasional knock and its answer to let Anders and Fenris know the other was still there.

“You shouldn’t sit around here with idle thoughts,” Merrill’s voice brought Fenris back from the hazy plane his mind had decided to occupy. He was decidedly not thinking. Darkness lay that way.

“So you got me a book from the library?” Anders chuckled. “Oh, I know this one.”

“Do you like it?”

“It’s good, I think. It’s been a while since I actually read it.”

“Would you read it to me?”

“Can’t you read it yours-“ Anders interrupted himself. “Alright alright, fine.  _ Once upon a time, in a damp, dark, mountain forest lived a widow. Her husband had been a charcoal burner and now, she was teaching her sixteen year old son the same profession…” _

Through the door, Fenris listened to the story. It sounded like a fairy tale, set in a rough wilderness men had still to tame. There were storms and magic creatures, creaking forests and loud bar rooms. The hour of birth was magic, as was winning at cards. Gifts were given undeserved and taken without thanks. It lead to the main character, Peter, to move up in the world while growing less and less part of human society. He traded his heart for a heart of stone for simple wealth, not knowing what he’d lost.

Fenris hadn’t even noticed how breathless he’d listened until Anders stopped reading. He stood on stiff limbs. If he had to face Anders for him to finish the story, he would. A nagging voice told him that this had been Merrill’s plan all along, but he didn’t believe it. She’d probably picked the first interesting book she could find.

The door opened with a low creak. Anders was sitting in the hall, leaned against the wall with the book on his lap. A mage light illuminated the gloom just enough to read. He looked up at Fenris, smiling softly. When Fenris opened his mouth, Anders put a finger to his lips. Merrill was leaning against his side, apparently asleep.

Fenris hesitated for a heartbeat, before turning around, leaving the door open. He didn’t want Anders to think he’d shut himself in again, even for the few moments it took him to gather the two blankets and a pillow from the bed. He dragged it all out to Anders. Putting a finger to his own lips, Fenris dropped the pillow and one of the blankets next to Anders, before putting the second blanket around Merrill.

He sat down by Anders’ other side, the leftover blanket shared between them. “I do not want to talk,” Fenris whispered his admission into Anders’ ear.

Anders put an arm around him. “I could continue reading,” he whispered back. “Look, the book even has illuminations.” He showed Fenris a drawing filling a page, of a human standing before a huge face seemingly coming directly from a copse of trees. There were more drawings in the book, all of which Fenris recognized as scenes he’d heard Anders read.

Fenris handed the book back when he’d finished with the pictures. “How does it end?” he whispered.

“You’ll have to wait until we get there.” Anders winked. “I take it you want me to read on?”

Fenris rolled his eyes. “Only if it is a good ending. If it is not, I would you rather have you make something up.”

“It is a fairy tale, Fenris! There are only happily ever afters. That’s why they’re fairy tales.” Anders was suppressing his laughter but not very successfully. Fenris tried to keep it down with a finger against Anders’ lips. When that didn’t work, he shut him up with a kiss. That worked immediately.

“You will wake Merrill like this,” Fenris whispered as he pulled back. 

“Sorry sorry.” Even in the dim light, Fenris could see Anders blush as he picked up the book again. “Uhm, so, we’re good, aren’t we?”

“Yes, we are good.” Fenris fidgeted. “I am uncertain I myself  _ am good _ but…” He sighed. “I am glad you stayed. I do not know what I-“

“Hey, hey, you big sap, of course I’d stay. I’d never, ever let you sit in the dark alone.” He took Fenris hand. “Metaphorically speaking. Obviously, it’s only gloomy here because the hall only has windows at the ends.”

“I know what a metaphor is,” Fenris grumbled. “Varric explained it in great detail.” He leaned more of his weight against Anders. “There is nothing more fearsome than what a mind can find in the dark.”

“Don’t I know it.” Fenris could feel the shudder run through Anders. “One day, I’ll tell you why. Just… not today. It’s been exhausting for me, too, so far.”

“Later then.” Fenris tapped the open book. “You meant to read on.”

“Pushy,” Anders laughed. He started to read on anyway.


	13. Chapter 13

The story ended with a happy end, just as Anders had promised. Peter got his heart back thanks to his wife’s kindness, and they and Peter’s old mother lived a mundane, hard, but happy life until the end of their days. All in all, as expected from a fairy tale but satisfying nonetheless.

Fenris had curled up close against Anders during the story. His hand had slipped under Anders’ shirt to lie on his chest. The steady heartbeat under his fingers helped to remember he was still here, still free, still loved. The latter was also helped by Anders carding his fingers through his hair while he read.

Some time during the last part of the story, when Anders had started to imitate the wretched creature that had taken Peter’s heart, Merrill had woken up again, giggling at Anders’ failed attempts to sound gravelly and scary. She’d taken over the parts of Peter’s wife without prompting, doing a very credible worried woman doting on a passing stranger.

“We should do this for children sometime,” Merrill suggested as Anders closed the book. He didn’t move beyond that, likely because between her and Fenris there wasn’t much space left to move anyway. “But Fenris should read the scary parts.”

“I will not let you use me to scare children,” Fenris rumbled. He tried to sound as scary as possible. “But it is probably better than Anders reading them. You will just… have to practice with me, first.”

“Of course, lethallin.” Merrill smiled softly at him. “We’ll practice all you like. Just come by whenever you want.”

Reluctantly, Fenris pulled himself into a more upright position. “Thank you,” he murmured. He didn’t know how to deal with the endearment. Had they really become close enough for him to deserve this?

“I think you broke him a little,” Anders commented when Fenris kept squinting at Merrill, trying to work out what he had done right to keep her around as a friend. “C’me here again, it’s getting cold,” Anders complained.

Broken was exactly what Fenris felt like. He curled back against his mage’s chest. The tears came unbidden, just barely hidden by the turn of his face and the blanket he pulled up to his nose. Anders had to notice the wet spot growing on his shirt but he didn’t show any direct reaction. He merely went back to petting Fenris’ hair. 

“Fenris?” Merrill asked softly. “Did I say something wrong?”

Fenris looked up at her worried expression. It was ridiculous. He should have it better together by now. Simple displays of platonic affection should not feel so overwhelming. The whole day had been too much and it was barely past noon. He rubbed his eyes. “No, no, you did not.” His breath shuddered. “I am no monster.”

“Of course not,” Merrill gasped. “Why would I think that? Why would…” Her eyes widened. “You don’t really think that about yourself, do you?”

“I attacked my friend, I wanted to hurt them,” Fenris admitted. He let Anders coax him into his lap, settling his head against Anders’ shoulder. “I do not want to be a monster.” His voice came out muffled.

“You didn’t injure Hawke, not permanently anyway,” Anders responded. “That bruise will fade. I’m no better, I’m still angry enough not to heal them. And unlike you, I don’t even feel bad about it. ...not really anyway.”

Merrill gasped. “Anders!”

“What? I’m petty. The only reason I don’t act on it most of the time is Justice and even he’s peeved about Hawke. So I get to be petty for a day or two.” Anders sighed. “A week at most. I’ll heal Hawke eventually, okay? Just not now.”

“Anders!” Merrill admonished him again. “That’s not very nice.”

“I’m not a nice person.” Despite his words, Anders was still doing what he could to soothe Fenris.

Fenris sighed. He didn’t have to pull himself together with these two. He was safe, safe as he could ever be. Half a year ago, he’d have lashed out at the mere suggestion of this situation. Things had changed. He had changed. And thus, he said, “Liar. You’re the second nicest person I know.”

It made Anders laugh. The sound vibrated against Fenris’ chest. “The second nicest? Who in Thedas is the poor sod you count higher than me?”

“Merrill.” 

That only made Anders laugh more. “Okay. I probably shouldn’t laugh, because you’re right, but, but, but, imagine if anyone said that to you three months ago.”

“Are you trying to prove that you’re actually an ass?” Fenris pretended he hadn’t been thinking along the same lines. Instead, he twisted in Anders’ arms so he could look him in the face. “This whole damn city is years ahead of you there.”

“Kinda, but I kinda want to tell you that you’ve changed for good lately, too.” Anders pressed a kiss to Fenris’ forehead. “I love you.” Much softer, against Fenris’ ear, he added, “I’ll do my best that it’s enough for the two of us.”

Fenris meant to respond. He did and yet the little cooing noises from Merrill made his ears burn from tip to his cheeks. So instead, he hid his face against Anders’ shoulder again. 

“I always thought you were nice,” Fenris said. “Too nice and too stupid for you to be anything less than dangerous. I always thought somehow, someday, you would bring ruin upon everyone around you because you are just too nice to see sense.”

“Hey!”

Fenris shrugged. “Now I know you would mostly ruin yourself. And…” He paused. Deep breaths. “I know Justice at least has sense.”

“Oh, great,” Anders commented. “And you can bugger off right away with that smugness, Justice.”

“I still love you.” Fenris felt like he had to add that after what he’d just said. 

Anders hugged him close, wrapping the blanket a little tighter around Fenris. “I know.” He pressed a kiss to Fenris’ temple. “And I’m glad you’re warming to Justice.”

“Is Fenris cold?” Merrill asked. “It can’t be too warm without a shirt here.”

“No,” Fenris said just at the same time as Anders said “yes.” Fenris glared at him. 

“But you are,” Anders said, rubbing his hands up and down Fenris’ bare arms. “Your skin is all cold.” His expression got thoughtful. “How about you put on a shirt and we, all three of us, go out for a late lunch? I have an idea, but I also think some warm food would do us good. Just, maybe not at the Hanged Man, in case we run into Hawke there.”

Fenris didn’t want to put on a shirt. He didn’t want to do anything that removed him from immediate physical contact with his mage. So he made noises of protest when Anders tried to coax him into getting up.

“I could take the blanket away,” Merrill suggested. “That always worked for Tam- …someone I knew. When he didn’t want to get up, I mean.”

“Go ahead,” Anders replied. He had switched to gentle prodding which had only the effect that Fenris was digging his nails in his back. “Fenris, please. You’ll have to go out eventually and it will only get harder the longer you refuse to. I’ll be there the entire time and Merrill, too.”

“Don’t want,” Fenris mumbled against Anders’ neck. “Safer in here.”

Anders dropped his hands. “You are or the rest of the world is with you in here?” He was using his healer voice. Fenris didn’t like it. It felt like there was something wrong with him. He knew there was, but Anders pointing it out didn’t help.

“Both,” Fenris lied.

“I’ll not keep you inside for the rest of your life,” Anders sighed. “It’ll help. Trust me, please? I promise, if you want to go back to sulking in your mansion tomorrow, I’ll let you. But today, for the rest of today, you have to trust me that I want what’s best for you.”

“Anders, maybe forcing Fenris isn’t all that good?” Merrill sounded worried. “If he really doesn’t want to go out, I could fetch us lunch. And leave you two alone after, if that’s what Fenris wants?”

“No.” Fenris had been thinking. If he’d spent the rest of the foreseeable future holed up in his home and made Anders stay with him, he’d then be forcing Anders to stay inside against his will. It sounded an awful lot like parts of Anders’ past he’d never want to recreate. “I will go outside with you, if you insist, mage.” He pulled a face. “I hope you do not expect me to like it.”

“No, I don’t. You can be as sour and grumpy as you’d like,” Anders chirped. “I’ll be there the entire time and if it becomes too much for you, we can go home. I promise.”

Fenris allowed himself to be pulled to his feet by Anders. He allowed Anders to take him back to the bedroom and put on the shirt he was handed. Over that, he strapped on his plate. It made him feel slightly better, the familiar weight on his shoulders calming.

Anders smiled at him but he couldn’t hide the worried look in his eyes. 

Once dressed, Anders and Merrill discussed where they could find something warm to eat. Fenris stayed out of the conversation. He didn’t care if they ate at the best restaurant of the city or straight from a kettle in Darktown. He didn’t care much for food at all, but if Anders thought it would help he wouldn’t argue. 

In the end, they did head for Darktown, though it was for a street food vendor near the exit by the Alienage. Anders and Merrill seemed to both know the couple that ran the tiny stall, because they both chatted with the woman selling them filled buns before she would hand them food without taking any order. Anders passed half his food to Fenris without a comment. They found a mostly clean spot nearby to sit down and eat.

For the first bites, nobody spoke. Fenris didn’t feel like talking anyway. He felt exposed just sitting in this dusty corner of Darktown. Making subtle contact with Anders helped, but it made him worried for other reasons. His mage was too trusting, too careless. It was a risk and he wasn’t sure how he’d take it if anything ever happened to Anders because of him. 

He didn’t want to eat anything anymore. The memory of Hawke’s blade vibrating in the wood above him clogged his throat.

“Fenris, are you okay?” Merrill asked. He hadn’t even noticed her watching him.

Anders took his wrist in his hand without even looking, pressing two fingers on his pulse. He was watching their surroundings, Fenris realized. “Do you feel cold?” he asked softly. “Clammy?”

“I never give you enough credit,” Fenris pressed out. He was cold and clammy. He could feel his own heart race just as much as Anders undoubtedly did. But that thought was more important than his physical incapacitation. “You are always attentive.”

“Oh, now you realize it,” Anders laughed. “Of course I am. I always am. You’re avoiding my questions. Should we go back?”

Fenris shook his head. He was terrified of forcing Anders to be locked up inside for him. Even more than of being outside.

“Okay.” Anders removed his hand from Fenris’ wrist. “Listen, about my idea. I thought the problem was… well, what you did. Not why. And, uhm, I was wrong. I want to help, but…”

“Tell me your idea. Please.” Fenris swallowed. “I want to have the choice.”

“Fine, fine.” Anders sighed. He looked at Merrill for a second. “I’d meant to… I should have already…” He paused. “There are people in the Alienage that need help and don’t come to my clinic. So, I want to visit. But, I need your help. Both of yours. I mean…” He gestured, likely trying to indicate that he was very obviously human. “Well. Some refuse my help, for obvious reasons, but they’ll accept yours. Probably.”

“But we’re no healers,” Merrill protested. “We can’t do what you do.”

“No, we can’t,” Fenris agreed thoughtfully. He narrowed his eyes at Anders. “But we both know enough to call for help for others when they need it. And I think I can help…” He pressed his lips together. “That is what you are getting at. That I can heal, with knowledge and time, not magic. That I am more than death and pain.”

Anders blushed, looking away. “I… ah. Maybe. And, and also… you have a knack for dealing with children. Both of you. Which I don’t. I don’t… I think I lack the patience and… help me, please?”

Fenris sighed deeply. “It might be useful.” Anders was right and he still hated to admit it at times such as this one. Helping yourself by helping others was so much like his mage. “Fine. I meant to go to the Alienage one of these days anyway.”

“To see your house?” Merrill beamed. “It’s coming along so well, it’s been so helpful to have more space and kind people and you have to see it!”

Merrill was right. He had to see it. It was a thought he held while they finished eating. It was the thought that got him through the open daylight outside. By now, coming to the Alienage didn’t even feel like that much of a burden anymore. He’d been often enough to visit Merrill, the people in his house, and elves just in general lately. He was even greeted with smiles and his name like he was one of them.

Merrill was completely at home. The elves of the Alienage treated her somewhere between a family member and their own much venerated Keeper. She wore the roles in stride, laughing, worrying, playing, working with them. And, as far as Fenris could tell, she was loved in return. By the women and children especially.

On the other hand, Anders was sticking out like a sore thumb. Not just because of his height. He had trouble hiding his nervousness, the way he kept looking at Fenris and Merrill in search for pointers. It had taken Fenris years to realize, but it wasn’t that the presence of elves discomforted Anders, he simply was terrified of making a mistake and hurting anyone. 

And that he didn’t like being distrusted when all he wanted was to help. 

Still, some of the people recognized Anders, greeted him with a polite nod and calls of “healer, healer”. Quite a few ran off when they saw him, elation plain on their faces. Fenris just hoped it was to fetch their sick relatives, or prepare them for a visit. He was really in no mood to fight anyone for Anders’ life right now.

The former warehouse that Fenris had had refitted into cheap rooms for any elf who’d need it had turned out just as intended. The floors had been split in two, a flat on each side of the stairs. Fenris was vaguely aware he’d paid for furniture, too, but he hadn’t visited any of the flats. All of them had found tenants almost as soon as they’d been finished. He suspected Merrill had had a hand in it but he had no proof. 

The only part of the rather large house he’d had any specifics for had been one half of the ground floor. He’d listened often enough to Anders complain about how difficult it was to care for the elves in the Alienage, not the least of his trouble being the lack of a proper space to do so. He even understood why there were a lot of elves who didn’t want to take their chances going into Darktown when they were weakened already. 

So, Fenris had set up a medical station with that he’d learned so far. It was clean, it was tidy, it was stocked just about well enough to deal with all the usuals. He planned on using the rent he was paid to keep it supplied, adding his own money if he had to. 

It was worth the look of absolute delight when Anders saw it. 

“Is this…?” He was looking at Fenris with wide eyes, his hands twitching as if he could barely restrain himself from expressing his thanks in a physical way. 

“All yours,” Fenris confirmed. He could feel his face heat up, enough to turn his gaze firmly to the ground. “All I ask is that you use it regularly.”

“I-“ Anders cleared his throat. “Yes, yes, of course I will. I’d… we’d… there should be… I’d need to make an actual schedule with Lirene… or something like that. Fenris, this… this is precious.” He sounded like he was in awe. Of what, Fenris wasn’t quite sure. It had been just an idea, encouraged by Merrill and his own observations.

“Anders, it’d be so good if you could come by more often,” Merrill agreed. She, too, was beaming with pride and happiness. “Oh, that reminds me, I made a gift for you, with the children. I put it here, somewhere…” She fussed about a desk filled with writing materials. Fenris knew Anders liked to keep journals about any outbreaks and records of the patients he’d healed. It had seemed a wise choice to add a desk.

Merrill presented Anders with a large piece of flat wood when she’d finally found it. “The elvhen on it says…”

“The healer’s in,” Anders whispered, trailing his fingers over the paint. 

“We’ve written the same on the other side in Trade. I thought it’d be a good idea to hang it outside when you’re here. On the lamp above the door. Like the lantern of your clinic?”

“Merrill…” Anders put the sign down. To free his hands, it turned out a moment later when he pulled Merrill into a hug. “Thank you.”

Merrill returned the hug after a moment. Fenris smiled as he watched. She probably was still surprised every time Anders showed her any genuine affection and by the physical contact that came with it. 

He cleared his throat. “Merrill and I will hang the sign, so you can settle in and get ready. I imagine there will be a lot of work at the start.”

“I suspect so, yes,” Anders sighed as he reluctantly let go of Merrill. “Will you help? Even if it just means that you’ll show in people one by one.”

Fenris allowed himself a small smile in return. “This is my house. I will even bandage those that do not require your specific help.”


End file.
